The Viewing

"Didn't he part his hair on the left?"
I'd known him for many years, but
the mortician's skill had created doubt.  
Yet, the fact that he seemed to be  
sleeping peacefully marked him for a corpse.  
He never slept. Well, hardly ever.  
 
A loop of 36 photos and 3 songs played
in a continuous time warp, with both the  
songs and the photos more than a decade old.
The two ballads I could understand, both sad
enough to suit the day, if not the dead man himself.  
But the hymn, definitely the mortuary's touch.  
 
His warm laugh was not on display.  
His eyes, at once droopy and bright,  
kind and guarded, were sealed tight.  
Body language, once gentle, was now moot.  
His body had changed,
from friend to ceremonial centerpiece.  
 
"How did you come to know him?" someone asked.  
"Slowly, one layer at a time," I answered.  
I did not add that there were still layers unwrapped.
Somedays he went places alone within himself.  
Best to let him return in his own sweet time.  
I looked at my watch, then cried into the crook of my arm.