Waiting tables, dyeing textiles, separating goats in heat
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And two months after the cancer finally ate through
the last tissues that separated him from death,
I get a message from his e-mail address,
urging me to click on a link I know I shouldn’t,
though I’m tempted, I really am,
to see where it takes me, to see if ghosts
haunt the Internet the way we kind of wish
they haunted our lives —
that is, kindly,
if they exist after death, maybe, just maybe,
we will, too.
But I know better
and don’t click on anything.
After I delete it, though, I search for
and read the last real message he sent:
i’m back home now. thank you for letting me visit.
please tell everyone else I was glad to meet them —
and let me know if I can do anything in the future.
James Davis May