My mother used to water our back garden
Wearing nothing but her Mormon underwear
And she bought the sheer silky kind
Not the thick cotton. What goes on in the temple
Is not secret, it’s sacred say the Mormons and I
Believe them. An apostate child for twenty years
And I have never looked up the endowment 
Ceremony online. But I know all about the underwear
From my mom’s summer gardening habits and
From when I had to gather them up and put them
In a plastic reusable grocery bag for her friend
To dispose of in a sacred way after she died. 

I saw her temple clothes too when I went with her
Church ladies to dress her body before she
Met the fire. The people who had retrieved her body
From the board and care left her in her gown
And half open diaper. When we opened the bag her
Mouth was open like she was begging for my help.
I tried to focus on her peeling bare feet
Only on her feet but my eyes kept reaching for her
In her face and my ears for the silent scream. 

I had to leave the room and let her faith friends
Finish. This was not their first body. Not by a long shot.
All near my mom’s age themselves I wondered if
They wondered who would be gowning them 
Or if their mortuary would collect them in a more
Dignified way. For their sakes, I hoped so. 

They are clever. I wondered how exactly you
Get a floor length temple dress on a dead body. The trick
Is you cut it up the back and down the seams 
Of the sleeves. You lay the dress on and tuck it around. 
Mormon beehive ingenuity and industriousness
Is something I have always admired. 

And the courage. Those women’s courage.

When they were finished they called me back
Into the room, pulled the cover from her face
And said, “Isn’t she pretty?” She was wearing
Her veil, white dress, green apron. Blessedly
They had closed her terrified mouth. 

She was pretty. 

Light in her hair
Hose in her hand
Watering the red hibiscus
In her silky sacred garments
Watching a hummingbird 
Wings nearly invisible
Dart in and out of the spray.

-M. Ashley