She laid the coins on my eyes

  • cold… she did not think to warm them for the dead

He removed the leaches from my whiter than white skin

  • do they not know I can feel the flow of blood from my limbs?

She combed my hair with a rough, horse-hair brush

  • did it matter that it pulled on my scalp?

Now they have placed me into my new home: pine scented. Scratchy cloth on my face.

It is so dark now can she hear me as I whisper?

“Goodbye, I will love you, always.”