The Funeral Party

She saw a funeral cortege pass by today. It pulled into the cemetery by her house. It was a beautiful day and the grass had been not long cut. Blossom still fell from the trees. 

It was an open coffin. His face was waxy and drained of colour; just dusty pink brushed onto his cheeks in a room near where he now lay. 

A lady, dressed as Pierrot, lay slumped at his feet. She was limp, like an antique doll shaken by a baby. She had cried so hard that her body had dried out completely. Desperately thirsty, she lapped at the pool of tears below, but the salt crystallised and cracked her tongue. Her blood dripped down onto the pool below. A pulcinella waved from her broken reflection, laughing. 

The nun began the eulogy.

"I dreamt of autumn in the dim glass light,

Of friends, with you, in their motley love,

And like a falcon, tasting blood in flight,

The swooping heart alighted on your glove.

But time would grow old, and deaf, and pass,

And, lightly touching frames with webs of amber,

Dawns from the garden veined the terrace glass

With sanguine tears of September.

But time would grow old, and pass. And pliant,

Like ice, armchair silk would melt and swell,

First audible, you stumbled and grew quiet,

The dream grew silent like the echo of a bell.

And I awoke: was, like the autumn, raw

The sunrise, and the wind drew into distance,

Chasing the sled, a running rain of straw,

The running birches chasing leaden instants."

(Pasternak)

The sky darkened. Rain began to fall. She watched as they slowly lowered his coffin into the ground. Pierrot's hand was twisted and clawed now, and the dirt couldn't escape the tight fist. The girl pulled up some soil and tossed it onto the coffin. How strange to bury a stranger.

The clouds began to break. Light streamed through the black sky.

Rain continued to fall.