Funeral Director
For Big Al
We often dress our dead in their very best,
and the embalming fluid leaves behind no
scent. For a time, it also stops the body from
decaying. The makeup artist and hairdresser
ply their trades. The blush is slightly over
done while the hair is teased to a large degree.
As if in defiance, the deceased appears lively.
This heightened reality makes the actuality
much more palatable. My father-in-law, Big
Al, was a funeral director. He spent a cold
winter night scouring the underbrush for
an eyeball. The motorcyclist had died after
colliding with a utility pole at a hairpin curve
on a notorious road. Big Al made the discovery
at dawn in time for the family visitation being
held later on. He often went to such extremes
to deliver on the promise that our loved ones
rest in peace, are in a better place. The words
of his profession. And the many well wishes.
We take them on faith as the casket enters
the ground and the thud of earth resounds.
© Laurie Didesch
Laurie Didesch has poetry appearing or forthcoming in Ibbetson Street, The Comstock Review, The MacGuffin, California Quarterly, Rambunctious Review, Third Wednesday, Young Ravens Literary Review, The Ravens Perch, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Adanna Journal, The Rockford Review, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Amethyst Review, Bronze Bird Review, Boudin: The Online Home of The McNeese Review, and more. Laurie was also awarded a spot in a juried workshop given by Marge Piercy. Laurie has worked the past ten years for a museum as a researcher and writer of art panels. She lives in Illinois with her husband Alan and their three rescue cats.
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