After the funeral

The house is bereft of shadows, which only the crook of sunlight can recreate. Death has been battered into

a peculiar shape to assist scrutiny, to define the edges of grief; its elliptical orbit coincides with the line of sight.

The couch looks worn.

The glow of the chandelier, mutinous.

The refrigerator is filled with casseroles from
neighbors and friends. In the den, the relatives say the same thing again. Dust has accumulated on the kitchen counter,
on the coffee table, in places where hands have yet to touch.

The doors have handwritten labels,
chiseled by numbered lives.


words: Kristine Ong Muslim, Phillippines (Bibliography)
photo: Steve Wing, Florida (sand shadow)

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