The second tree from the end is where I always sit,
Brushing my hand across the grass as I talk to my relatives.
Aunt Lois with her ancient mink coat. She and the pelts
sharing the same fate, the same dust.
Quack, squatting in the dirt beneath a red bud tree,
Sure that Eisenhower had "forgotten the little man".
Ma Ma married in overalls. Buried in her granddaughter's
dress after a lifetime of work.
Pete his face folding into a wrinkled smile. Leaving his
handiwork in a trail of temporary homes.
Ted, troubled war hero, insisting on Nam rules. Triumphantly
tossing in his winning hand, one card at a time.
J.C., his early confidence and wry humor stripped away by
disease until all that remained was bitterness and sad resignation.
Sherry, petite, precise. Her beautiful hands in constant motion,
sculpting the world for others to enjoy.
Steve, born in poverty, living in want. His worldly wealth disclosed by the
requiem crowd which would found no fault in him.
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