Speak to me not of your veil today,
Your hackneyed veil,
For it has been rent in twain, today,
As that other veil was of old.
But that revealed is not some
Holy of Holies, strangely empty.
The dead are here.
My heart, my brain, my soul,
Moan with all the dead unrested,
Scream with all the dead enraged,
Gibber with the dead in the spaces In Between.
And though my heart beats quick,
I do not know if I am alive or if
I am dead.
No — my mouth tells lies against my will.
The mystery is…
The mystery is there is no veil
Nor ever was,
For in death they live beside us, and
In life we die amongst them.
I am not so afraid or so cold.
Let us make offerings to the dead,
Coffee, cool water, and wine.
Let thanksgivings be made to the dead
That we might live and die in peace together,
Always side by side.
Rachel Izabella P.
All Hallow’s Eve, A.D. 2013