Funeral in Fiji

A Funeral in Fiji

It is a stifling day. We swelter in packed pews
in the echoing church, until a cold rain hammers
on the iron roof, and a draft rustles the flowers
of bougainvillea and frangipanni
in the hands of the silent children.

One by one the eulogists come forward,
speaking softly with downcast eyes,
lines of grief etched on their dark faces -
and though we know the merest smattering
of tourist Fijian, we feel the grief,
flowing like a cold deep-sea current,
and dark eyes glitter, but no tears fall.

After the Christian words have been said
and Christian hymns sung in rich harmony,
men come and bar the casket's solemn egress
to give the dead man his ancient tribal gift -
an ancient whale's tooth on a flaxen rope,
a line to lift his spirit into the light.
And suddenly the church is full of tears.