Stealth Burial

Stealth Burial - a reading (on YouTube)

I’ve gotten good at stealth burials for my family. Checking locations, scouting out the blind spots, making sure the coast is clear. I am humbled that distant people I don’t much know have entrusted me with this duty.

Our room is hidden on the back side, around a corner out of sight. The sound of surf creeps through the windows like the shadow of a thief. On the beach, the water is flat, like a mirror of our lives, two above, two below. Only ripples in the sand mark the passage of the tides.

Mackerel feast on fingerlings, leaping briefly into our world near the shore. A weathered cross marks an estate to the south of us, abandoned and empty houses lie north. The sun sinks under the clouds near the horizon, casting a deep orange glow like a torch or a lantern. A guiding light. 

An hour after sundown, we slip out to perform an early evening recon. Not a soul stirs along the beach. Just dark water against a dark horizon. I retrieve my burden and wander out.

Night blind, I wade knee deep into the ocean, a baptism of sorts. I spread their ashes, first one then the other and rinse the plastic clean. I mark the spot by the shadows of the landscape. After a moment of reflection, I wander back to change.

Focused on the deed, I’ve forgotten the scotch or cognac. I guess simple wine will have to do. A toast and a smoke, an Italian white and the pipe my father gave me. On the deck, bright stars peek through breaks in the clouds. The diamond of Delphinus swims along the Milky Way, ready to guide them home.

The next day, Poseidon or some other pelagic god offers up mementos from the sea, the perfect shell and shark’s tooth. A lone dolphin transits just offshore. At sunset the next evening, a double green flash echoes on the horizon.

That night, I dream of them on a journey by road. Before the bridge across that familiar river, I step out of their car. They say nothing, don’t even turn around. I awake in the dark, wishing them Godspeed wherever their destination, hoping that someday someone will do the same for us.

© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III