Judy, Final Portrait

Silver Gelatin Print,
Ilford HP5 film, Manual Cannon Rebel

Death does not come with grace. She opens up her eyes, slow and far, wide pupiled and mirroring the light around us. And her thin spine and wrists and neck, from sagging back to cockeyed feet, is not the same that sloped so gently and so smooth and black and sleek when in her youth. And I can see her, running nose and rotting teeth and great bald splotches, paper skin and feet crossed smoothly, her arched neck, and she stares blankly in the direction of my voice, purring to herself as I tell her that I love her. I did not come on her last day. We buried her in waxflower and shasta, and alone.