Karen Carissimo Vigil We dressed her for sleep, ďŹ rst washing her skin loose as cloth on her bones, traced cream along her bruised arms, removed her rings, pinned an opal to her robe. We prayed a rosary, a song murmured in a whisper and sorrow of dirge. Wake up, her daughter said, an absurd plea for she had coughed and sighed a ďŹ nal surge of breath to join the lost ones she could now see. How we wanted to witness and follow her to that shaded world, meet again the beloved husband, son, and mother circling our home, sure they would stay with us, descended from above. At last we left her, slept in the early hours of light as spirits hovered, her body gone cold in the night.
28 â—† Crab Orchard Review