BODY WASHERS

In honor of the people who wash for burial the bodies of the dead (in Iraq and elsewhere). *based on a story I heard on NPR, "Face to Face with Death in Iraq."

She washes the bodies
of dead women and girls
some decapitated by 
the pursuit of war
and the ruin of human hope 

she washes them careful
with respect for the living
to protect what could not
be protected in life

she knows the dead and
the world to which they go
she knows the body
that comes to her from
roadsides limbless
do not enter
the afterlife with no feet

she wears the clothes of death
from women who no longer need them
disrobe mend wash them 
makes a living for decades
using her hands wrinkled by
water and soap 
 wipe cloth soft against 
cadaver legs

body washer in dusty field
nose and ears clogged 
with the dirt of ages
and terror of war
cleans the knees
once pressed against
the floor bent toward
the east

she knows death like sisters
talk to herself while
communing with the
bony fingered visitor
that gripped the body
now clean with her
tears and work

Um Abbas eyes smile no grief
because "everything comes in its time"
even death, especially death
that does not wait for convenient
she lives neighbor to us
face-to-face and round corner
halls up alley ways
she waits

"Why do human beings complicate things when we know how it ends?"

© Valerie Bridgeman
March 21, 2013