qarrtsiluni

It used to startle her, how cold an uninhabited body is.

But she can’t help the wave of tenderness that comes when she passes a warm washcloth over breast and belly. Everyone succumbs to the impulse to whisper a word of comfort as the stream of water pours.

Sand makes it real. These eyes won’t open again, not here.

Wrapped in white, the body looks smaller. She’s always startled that it isn’t weightless when they lift it and place it in its nest of wood curls, like a precious etrog with a long way to travel before the holiday comes.

by Rachel Barenblat of Velveteen Rabbi