BY JOHN GREY
Copyright is held by the author.
Skeletons are borne
through the streets of Calamocha
for a Holy Week procession.
No point disparaging death
or embracing it
and denying it
won’t help.
It integrates itself
with every step,
every stamp of boots
on the pavement.
So how will death come,
when it does?
Will I help it along?
Will I defend this bridge of life
like a modern-day Horatio?
Does it involve divine light?
What about hell fire?
Bones jiggle and click and clack
as they pass by.
Only here does grisly percussion
have it over angelic harp plucking.
As the procession vanishes
around a corner,
my eyes are taken
by a pretty young woman
For a life parade,
that’s all it takes.
