by David Smedley

Packed into church pews like crows
pack power lines in winter,
everybody hunched forward in prayer
a black wave about to break.

Jesus stares down
from a stained glass window.
This is how I will remember you;
barefoot on the island of Ibiza
hair hanging to your shoulders,
a nimbus of light about your head
from the Mediterranean sunset.

As your casket is lowered
a cuckoo calls from the woods.
Your body was a nest
for a foreign egg.

Copyright 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.