Farewell to Martha Jean

Don Gordon

1939

I stood and watched as the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave. The shiny casket scraped against the pebbles and stones that stuck out from the packed red clay. There was a dull, hollow thud as the wooden box hit the bottom of the pit. It sounded like someone stepping onto a rowing boat- before they set off on a pleasant sail...

One by one the pale-faced pall-bearers dropped their cords and a small handful of dust onto the top off the coffin. The rain began again further streaking mascara and we all shuffled impatiently. Waiting. ... (continues)