Memento Mori

Standing so often at the edge of life -
the rasping sound of final breaths
as fluttering fingers lose their hold -;
Casting so often the words
at which the spellbound crematorium curtains
slide silently
severing again, again, again,
the living from the dead;
I need no memento mori,
and, without success,
on days off,
hunt the lost delusion of immortality.

June 11th 96.


One of the occupational hazards of priesthood is an over-familiarity with the business of death. At the local crematorium when I wrote this poem, an unseen operator closed the curtains while the priest faced the coffin, which made it look as if we were doing this just by the power of our words!
Memento Mori are things which remind you that you will one day die.