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Gloves

The death was a shock but not a surprise; and there had been time to assemble some narrative defence. There was little pain.

The newly-bereaved sat very still.

Those who had admired the deceased called by phone but were not invited. Those who visited were not admitted. A neighbour returned several ladders; and they leaned across the front doorway.

The cat was sulky.

Alone, at its insistent request, the bereaved sat beside remains and ruin, and stared without focus.

The deceased hadn't bothered putting its gloves on. Its new gloves. Gloves lying on a cold pillow.

The bereaved put on the gloves. They fitted loosely but could be pulled up every few minutes.

It shuffled to the wardrobe, removed an entire outfit of the deceased, and dressed. The result was preposterous, yet there was a similarity.

String pulled in the trousers at the waist and checked the billowy shirt. Rubber bands held the sleeves in rucks. It was little better; but the deceased had never cared about sartorial appearance.

Why should the survivor care?

It rang friends and announced itself as the deceased. We have died, it said. Come any time.

When they came, they asked, in their various ways, what was meant by these actions. The responses evaded the questions as the bereaved affected not to understand. I am fine, it said. It's just that, my partner being away, I need company. Then it began to cry, squealing softly.

A psychiatrist called; and, after some minutes alone with the survivor, declared it sane. The visitors stood in the cramped kitchen, making occasional; shallow remarks to each other; and to the person who was pretending to be another, now deceased, who was now saying odder things.

At last, the survivor leading, they entered the inner darkened room, each carrying a knife.

The leader seemed to hesitate, seemed, for some moments, to dream.

And then speech. I have changed my mind. We shall devour the entire corpse. No one leaves until we finish. Pull the clothes off the still one and start cutting. Save all the bones.

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34

She exhausts, blanketed in my bed. Tarnishing.
Wherever I locate the furniture she still dies in the dresser's pocket.
Sometimes I leave the curtains open while she is sleeping.
My familiars watch through the window-frame.
I cannot justify the anger, the concealment.
How can I stand outside? How can I nurture this distance?
I go to her occasionally to reposition limbs.
Hiding plants, verdure, in between the sheets.
I've taken down the mirrors: they encourage prayer.

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