After the Funeral Service
Long-haired men lift the casket,
carry it
through the church’s double doors.
The congregation sings, “Onward,
Christian Soldiers.”
A vibration begins in my throat.
I think I hear a bat navigating
the rafters,
echolocating while waves of sound
surround it and the coffin.
Melody travels
where we cannot. Its frequencies
intersect with dusty corners,
shadows.
We sing to our beloved lost one.
The martial meter of the familiar hymn
a heartbeat
for the journey to our Creator. I sing
with spirit. We all do, as if we think
our voices
can pierce the membrane between
the living and the dead.
Singing loudly,
as if there is no doubt.
Peggy Turnbull studied anthropology in college and has a master’s in library and information science. She has written all her life, mostly in diaries, but after returning to her birthplace in Wisconsin, she began to write poems. Read them in Ariel Chart, Writers Resist, and Verse-Virtual or visit https://peggyturnbull.blogspot.com/ .
Amethyst Review 
“As if there is no doubt” — ah, yes, the penetration, the connection of hearts, both bat and human. Here’s one I wrote about a disconnect:
Contact Missed
It’s evening and the hummingbirds
Are buzzing about
Looking for their last meal of the day.
It does seem though
That I might at least have
Talked to him when he called.
Dorian Black, September 1, 2011
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