“three pieces of gold
for the dead…” – D. Bonta

Every other year or so the mail
brings a summons, a paper
of accounting, a kind of fatwa,
a notice of debt. She doesn’t know
where to begin to address it,
how to reconcile the life
that kept going, versus the cost.
Before the dead are lowered
into the grave, she knows custom
allows one bright coin to seal
each eyelid shut. When the vault
is drawn, by what light will their
currency matter, and to whom?


In response to Via Negativa: Gambler.

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