Dirge

The air is stiff, as stiff as my spine against naked wooden pews. Solemn murmurs glide from pillar to pillar as crackling fabric gnaws at my skin.

Bursts of color-- draping bouquets, lonely rose on Grandma's lapel; filtered light and dust spill through stained glass.

A figure in white, glowing like an angel, swings a pendulum over you, a ball and chain, tethering, tolling your bell.

Above, His face, peaceful and pained, hopeful and weary for you. Later, your own lined face would be seen, as closed as in living sleep.