When the light stopped
shinning and the room became
quiet, I knew she had died.
The shudder that ran
from shoulder to shoulder
brought her relatives
to their knees.
They prayed
and chanted
and cried.
It reminded me of
a scene from Tolstoy
or maybe Dostoevsky
the scene when everything
and I mean everything, dims.
A few of her relatives looked at me
and asked how I felt
I pointed to my throat
and hoped they would understand.
Yevgeniy Levitskiy has received a B.A. in English-Education from Brooklyn College, and is currently pursuing a M.A. His writing has been published numerous times in The Junction. His forthcoming publications include The Books They Gave Me (Free Press/Simon & Schuster), Maggot Bible, and Sea Giraffe. He is currently at work on his second novel.
