‘A debt repaid’ Jn. 19.30
i.m. Mary Murphy

A penny for your thoughts, she said as
she pressed a coin into my palm, still
warm from underneath her pillow. And
One for the Ferryman, I thought, as I
stashed it with the others in the jar.
A coin I pressed into her hand, as was
custom, before we laid her out – scant
redress for the violation. Her bones had
knitted – grown into that posture from
the years in bed. Set in that pose we
know from Pompeii, cast as they were
(mid-sleep or dream), left without rites.
Went empty-handed, though the fare
was stacked in jugs, brimful of denarii.

Eugene O’Connell’s books include One Clear Call and Diviner. A new collection, Thin Air, is forthcoming.