Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

the casket elevator

being a working mother
takes on many odd forms
especially in the evening

there were nights when the twins were small
they would have to come to work with me

taken to the third floor playroom
of the victorian mansion funeral home

they would watch cartoons and play as knights storming castles

as i embalmed bodies in the catacombs

listening to lou reed and watching them on closed circuit tv

on occasion i would be focused on my sewing
when i would hear their screams running down the steps seeking me

my feet would fly to the casket elevator
it being faster than the grand staircase
and the surest way to my sons

my hands throwing open the brass gate
would lead my eyes to discover
i would not be alone for my ride upstairs

the ghost of whomever i was stitching
would apologize for causing all the shouting

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