Internment
by Jen Karetnick
Before the fistfuls of soil refill the hole, the names like bells peal and repeal--
Before the blanketing of this bed, stones become a fitted sheet--
Before the gathering of the geological shroud, the shoulders a frame for the shaking, the ear an antennae as if to tune into the world’s secrets one final time--
Before the laying of lips and hands, a pillow of earth like a sling for the neck, an angle less than acute, the respectful roll and prop of the torso--
Before the facing of the features to qiblah, the unfastening of the kafan, as easily torn as modesty--
Before the removal of that false epidermis, roped in place, the posing of extremities in a
perennial of prayer—They are hardy in most climate zones, those who are native and those deemed invasive, those who are sent back and those who can never be returned, sprouting for generations in the same ungenerous ground--
Before the lowering of the body, one more bucket into the dry well, the creep of the coffin, bobbing, a northern bald ibis searching on the banks of the Firat River for the scarce meat of beetles--
Before the cleansing of all that is corporeal, the rites for search and rescue--
Before the sopping, sand-crusted findings--
Before the boarding and the crossing over—the cap-sized measures for leave-taking—the braiding and braiding of faith is all that may continue to grow--
Jen Karetnick is the author/co-author of 19 books, including 9 collections of poetry, the most recent of which is The Crossing Over (March 2019), which won the 2018 Split Rock Review Chapbook Competition. Her poems, essays, and journalism appear widely in publications including TheAtlantic.com, Guernica, Michigan Quarterly, The Missouri Review, and Tampa Review. She works as a dining critic and cookbook author. For more, please see jkaretnick.com.
"Internment" was first published in Gordon Square Review.
by Jen Karetnick
Before the fistfuls of soil refill the hole, the names like bells peal and repeal--
Before the blanketing of this bed, stones become a fitted sheet--
Before the gathering of the geological shroud, the shoulders a frame for the shaking, the ear an antennae as if to tune into the world’s secrets one final time--
Before the laying of lips and hands, a pillow of earth like a sling for the neck, an angle less than acute, the respectful roll and prop of the torso--
Before the facing of the features to qiblah, the unfastening of the kafan, as easily torn as modesty--
Before the removal of that false epidermis, roped in place, the posing of extremities in a
perennial of prayer—They are hardy in most climate zones, those who are native and those deemed invasive, those who are sent back and those who can never be returned, sprouting for generations in the same ungenerous ground--
Before the lowering of the body, one more bucket into the dry well, the creep of the coffin, bobbing, a northern bald ibis searching on the banks of the Firat River for the scarce meat of beetles--
Before the cleansing of all that is corporeal, the rites for search and rescue--
Before the sopping, sand-crusted findings--
Before the boarding and the crossing over—the cap-sized measures for leave-taking—the braiding and braiding of faith is all that may continue to grow--
Jen Karetnick is the author/co-author of 19 books, including 9 collections of poetry, the most recent of which is The Crossing Over (March 2019), which won the 2018 Split Rock Review Chapbook Competition. Her poems, essays, and journalism appear widely in publications including TheAtlantic.com, Guernica, Michigan Quarterly, The Missouri Review, and Tampa Review. She works as a dining critic and cookbook author. For more, please see jkaretnick.com.
"Internment" was first published in Gordon Square Review.