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in the first row or the last. Tell them I’ve
stepped into the glittering box and the door
has been shut, and that of all of life’s tricks,
resurrection is the hardest. There is a fine veil
between reality and fantasy. Tell them now
that there is truth beyond illusion, pain is
temporary, and I’m standing on the other
side.
His mother’s makeup had been washed up and the
elephants sang as we gathered around the coffin. The wind
continued to blow in forceful gusts as his body lowered foot by
foot. The darkness of the earth shrouded his existence. And
then and there I began to wonder if the greatest magic he ever
performed was not taking my heart when I looked the other
way. Perhaps, instead, it was convincing the audience his
death was nothing but a trick.

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