There is a moment
between the last touch
and the wretched pleading
when he is alone,
and the quiet holds no hint
of heartbeats, no mist of breath.
He could be master
of a tomb then, a sultan,
a pharaoh whose triumphant life
arcs around him, burnished,
awed to eternal worship.
His wife, her arms open
in praise, her palms
smooth as the inside
of a shell; his children
not crying, their mouths
stunned Os about to unspool
their bell-clear laughter.
The bruiseless fruits,
the heavy olives that rattle
and ting in the cup of his hand
warming. It could be death:
this beauty, this silence,
the uselessness of every glittering thing.
Jacqueline West's work has appeared in journals including St. Ann's Review, Inkwell Journal, flashquake, Barnwood, The Pedestal Magazine, ChiZine, and Ideomancer, and has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her debut novel for young readers is forthcoming from Dial in summer 2010. More about her work can be found at www.jacquelinewest.net.