Visitation

She rests in sweet repose, as mourners pass-- some she never even knows. Her casket is a deep, dark green, its lining a silken shade, a softer sheen, a perfect counterpoint to her chestnut tresses. Pale hands rest upon her breast, framing the emerald of her dress. She would be truly upset to see you gazing at her dead-- for it was clear what she had said: “If you could not visit me when I was alive, don’t come see me now that I have died.” Alesia Leach © 11/2014