Burial in Marawi

Red dimpled flesh

where a tooth was pulled,

isn’t the pit like a grave–

hollow–

the body fills with itself,

sealing the lesion

and, along with it,

the pain of removal.

 

But in Dalipuga,

honeycomb crypts grow black

and bitter

with every ill-fitting casket

deposited in no order,

for every candle lit

is for all and no one.

They are bodies unclaimed

and their tombs, nailed shut,

an open wound.

 

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