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