In the Fields of Elysium...

My uncle Frank died in July of 1986 from a cancerous tumor in his lungs. He was a great uncle. The kind of man you couldn't wait to see as a young boy because he would participate in all sorts of activities with my brother and me. I think his wake was the first one that I ever went to and the writing touches on my impression of the event;

The Wake
(For Uncle Frank Tobiasson)

It’s rather odd
how we dress up the dead.
Death has no bias
towards its next guest’s attire.

Yet, the ladies and men whisper–
in praise of the mortician,
as if some magician,
for creating the illusion
of life in death.

Kneeling to view uncle Frank one last time.
Up close, I see through
the cosmetic veneer
of the under-taker’s skill.

He is an emaciated ninety-six pounds.
His cancerous bones protrude from the casket
as fresh tombs in soil.
He has not gone ‘gentle into that good night’
as the Charon now ferries him along.

Rising now, in the calm contemplation
that Hades lets him roam painless
in the Fields of Elysium...