The Dead

Poet’s Choice
Honorable Mention

I know why the women wash the bodies of the dead:
the intimate innocence
of water –
                  the flesh bereft of sexuality
                  the flesh from woman's flesh
Mothers, Sisters, Daughters     I know why
they feel the tug of water, blood, amniotic
oceans,     the cycles,     the seasons,    I know why.

I know why the women must see and handle and dress
the dead      from them, to them     the cycle   the life   the water.

I know why the men carry the bodies of the dead,
cover them with good, clean earth.
I know why the men lift the casket together,
together walk the heavy distance to the sacred
pit.      Fathers, Brothers, Sons     I know why
they stand together, move together, carrying
the one with them, in
the group, in the family, in a valued space.
I know why.    

The earth continues beneath them.
Their legs root in the soil.
They are the sacred pit waiting to hold
the dead.    They are the soil they cover
the casket with.    The community
that makes a place and takes one in.  I know why.

I know why we bury the bodies of the dead.
Why we bear witness together.  Why we grieve
together.     I know why our blood and bones
ache.    Why we stand on
grave and sacred soil and weep: why words
cannot be found.


in memoriam
Adam Dyjak   
August 27, 1988 - March 7, 2007

Artist’s Statement:
Death kicks us in the heart. We don’t know if we can breathe. The suicide of a young person twists our souls into ache. Ritual reminds us that we belong, that we are connected to blood relations, to friend families we pick, and to the earth and water and wind. We belong to a community bigger than the human, something that sings in our blood and echos through the trees. Something sacred and unsayable.