Air is chill
bittersweet and nightly
on the Eve of when I put you in the ground.

Your strands will cling to my shirt buttons
all of you
scent and smile and skin cells
parts of bits of yesterday
will stick to my fingers
like chinese dinner.

The ground will be earthy
and clean with worm castings and compost
and I'll dig a hole for our memories
all of our scraped knees and bug bites.

I hold the shovel
today
as I watch you do headstands
on top of tomorrow's fresh graveplot.

05/24/2005

Posted on 05/24/2005
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia