Death Nesting - Last Responders

When the sirens fade, when the doctors leave, we come in quiet, we come to grieve. No flashing lights, no rushing hands, just steady work the night demands. We close the eyes, we fold the sheet, we bind the hands, we bind the feet. The world moves on, but we remain, to carry the weight, to write the name. We are the last responders, when the world has turned away. We shoulder the weight of silence, and lay the dead where they must stay. Hospice rooms and chapel halls, basements where the cold light falls. The work is simple, the work is stark, to tend the flesh, to tend the dark. We dig the ground, we mark the stone, we speak their names when we’re alone. Each task a hymn, each touch a rite, to grieve the end of dying light. We are the last responders, when the world has turned away. We shoulder the weight of silence, and lay the dead where they must stay. First responders fight for breath. We serve the hours after death. No headlines, no parade, only silence, and the spade. We are the last responders, when the world has turned away. We shoulder the weight of silence, and lay the dead where they must stay. When all is ended, we remain.