Gatherer
after “how to mourn your dead” by Robin M. Eames
gather the candles
We will speak with fire held under our tongues and clenched in our fists; with candles for mourning and torches so we do not need the candles.
We will always need the candles.
gather the cripples
We are the breathing history of a people relegated to church halls for healing, to hospitals for healing, to Heaven for healing.
We are not for healing. We do not want healing.
You will not touch us. You will not heal us.
We have always been here. We will always be here.
We are not for healing.
gather the names of the dead
There will always be too many. Say them all.
Before we eat, say each name.
Before we sleep, say each name.
Before we laugh, before we bathe, before we raise our faces to the sky— say each name.
Maybe there is still enough sky to hold them all.
gather our breath
It will catch in our throats. It will say, I am too tired today. It will say, no more.
Tell it just one more.
It is waiting for a rest.
Tell it we are sorry but there is no rest, only more work to be done— always more work.
gather our courage
It doesn’t need to be loud, or strong or confident.
It doesn’t need to be anything but ours.
We are not afraid of those who have come before us.
We are not afraid to be those who come before.
We are those who will make sure there will continue to be those who come after.
gather the forgotten
Do not forget them.
Hold them, a hum at the backs of our throats, a buzz in our ears, a beating in the soles of our feet.
They are the ground we stand-sit-walk-roll-limp-fall-bleed on.
There is no forgetting here.
gather our joy and our grace and our heaven and our forgiveness and our harmony
They are difficult to find.
We need them now more than ever.
They are not for those who would have us forget, would have us forgotten, would have us dead.
They are for those who do not know how dearly they will miss us.
They are for those who do not know they are us.
this is how we mourn our dead
