Hot Pink Lipstick

Poem By JUSTIN W Price

It was the first dead body I’d seen,
Waxy and soulless.
Hot pink lipstick,
I laughed at the choice.
Painted cheeks, rosy
like a doll.
Hands that had held mine
stroked my hair,
prepared my dinner,
now stiff, folded
and angelic, no longer capable
of love or embrace.
Red hair that had been dyed the day of her death,
her final living act, unknown. My grandmother
in a box lined with silk,
optimum comfort for the dead,
lips closed, unsmiling
blue eyes hiding behind shaded lids.
The sound of moans, sobs and hushed conversations.
Peace despite my fear.

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