But what if, in the clammy soil, her limbs grew warmer, shifted, stirred, kicked off the covering of earth, the drowsing corms, the sly worms, what if her arms reached out to grab the stone, the grooves of her dates under her thumb, and pulled her up? I wish. Her bare feet walk along the gravel path between the graves, her shroud like washing blown onto the gra**, the petals of her wreath kissed for a bride. Nobody died. Nobody wept. Nobody slept who couldn't be woken by the light. If I can only push open this heavy door she'll be standing there in the sun, dirty, tired, wondering why do I shout, why do I run.