Rites to Allay the Dead
       

It is never enough to close their door.
You have to calm the ripples where they last slept.
The sandals that remember where they stepped
Out of the world must be picked up off the floor,
"Their pictures not just folded to face the wood
But slid from the frames and snipped like credit cards.
Open the windows to air out the dark.
Closed blinds attract them, stopped clocks, cooling food.

They'll lick the doorstep like the cat come round,
Remembering you when they remember hunger.
They'll try to billow through their onetime sleeves
And point to your heart as in a lost and found.
The dead will know it, if you love much longer,
And whistle you near through the shuddering leaves.

Copyright © 2009 Amit Majmudar All rights reserved
from 0°, 0°
Triquarterly Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission