In classical ballets, there's always a moment..where the abandoned lover tries to find and resurrect the lost. it's that blue light moment, white tutus spinning and flailing in desperation. the only point where grace takes second place. the only thing grace steps aside for. grief. the pas de deux..it's just foreshadowing..the emminant return, the meeting up in some unspecified afterlife. (the inability of the audience, the writer, the director, the dancers..the world to accept that there's an end. all forms of 'pas de deux' aside. there's an end.)
i learned that at cremation the bones of the central cavity are the last to burn. that the body sits up. i wonder if it screams..if the skeleton screams. i learned that the asphalt ashes could be anything. anyone. i had no way of knowing. just that the box was heavy with tears. everything about you changed under the heat of it all..in the fiery furnace of your death. whereas i flinched but still barely moved. i learned that in live burial the body is asphyxiated. the first part to dissolve to nothing is the central cavity. little wonder that i can barely breath after all of this. that everything from my heart to the pit of my stomach aches constantly. that it's hard to get out of bed under the weight of it all. that i've changed so completely in the raw, damp ground.otherwise no longer exists. there is only stasis now..continually granting ceremony to the moment.
this was two weeks before she died. and then i died too.
