Standing in the final days of February,
among a crowd of family and friends,
but mostly those I didn’t know.
A long road leads to the end, where we
parked our cars for a day of passing.
A bible in hand, the pastor played the
subtle song of death, preaching to the
choir. I stood among black-suited men
each with a face stone cold. A fair brown
casket was pulled from an old, white car.
I carried the casket with the men in black,
still with a cold face and dead silence, along with the
casket, on their shoulders. Returned to the earth from
which she came, she was laid to rest.
That day I stood alone. Surrounded by many yes, but
having retreated inward. Silenced by my own mortality
and at the same time envying the body laid to rest. I
just wanted to lay down their with her. As we drove
away I wanted to stick around, talking with my
Grandma in Edgewood Cemetery.