Someone I Knew
I force myself to look at him
in his glass-topped
refrigerated box.
Afraid to live, afraid to die,
he gulped years of scotch and pills
to reach tonight;
yet he appears young
in a red t-shirt,
black hair falling back in waves,
livid skin smooth,
a clean line of white
between eyelids ajar.
You can’t see the ribs he broke
falling down. The stains
of incontinence
are washed away.
Tomorrow they will dress him
in white cloth and roses.
Now I remember
he was afraid.
I force myself to look
through the terror
in my living heart,
and wish that I could hide him
in the soft, scented lie
of bright petals.
Nancy Gandhi
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