BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS SOPHIE CONTENOT

I Chase the Horse-Drawn Casket

I chase the horse-drawn casket. The silence crushes, chokes thoughts, distorts. The cart turns once around a roundabout, then again. Such is the tradition. The crows on the fence, they bead at us. Mock. Laugh. Whisper. Waiting, smelling the passing dead, symbols of evil but also turning life.

I giggle; they turn and look. One laugh muffled by my shawl, then uncontrollably, hysterically, horror in their eyes. I have tears in mine. It goes on for eternity. The carriage-man stops the cart and the people whisper like the crows on the fence.

I am unable to breathe – hysteria replaces breath. Too funny.

I must crouch to stop myself falling over.