Thanksgiving bloomed from the
ground above you.

In the cemetery, rain still blurs the
edges; a now indistinguishable loss
of life rests here. Yet the grass
remains green, springy beneath my
feet - your heart is still reaching out,
bursting up.

I feared for your flowers, threatened by
a premature winter demise.

The blossoms and buds were placed
to survive through Thanksgiving; to
thrive in their new home, a remembrance
of yours. Yet they were stolen from your
grave - unexpected and shocking - swift
as your Thanksgiving theft from me.

11/30/2003

Posted on 12/01/2003
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