I Sat on the Tarp and Cried Out.

In 1947 Elliot Moore visited a cemetery to finalize funeral preparations for his Uncle David. He saw that the whole thing has been lined with a large piece of old black tarp. The wind had swept under it and now it was turning end over end, tumbling down the hill. It thumped and twisted and rolled, now climbing our hill, coming towards him. But he remained in place, making no further move toward the car. At the end, a second before it struck me, I cried out. Then everything went dark as it enveloped me, knocking me backwards off my feet,. Tumbled end over end inside that wet, stinking void. legs bound, arms trapped,