Thursday, May 25, 2006

Saint Mary's at the end of May

leaving the garden plot for a stroll
crossing Turner
you said "it's a forest" I called it shade
we sat on a bench next to black marble
you dancing ring around the rosies & ashes ashes
I was thinking of Aunt Sally and a dream of
collectible coins thrown in the deep end of a pool

we ran up the hill to where the babies are buried
I cried of course but didn't want you to see
thought I'd jinxed my children by even being there
and saw a son visiting the grave of his father
silent in the grass by fading flowers

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