yesterday
"love has no restrictions"
today
"make it my own and it cannot harm me"
i walk, exhausted, through the cemetery
in my neighborhood, canonizing his utterance,
heeding his hope, re-calling his love while
searching the honor rituals of the living,
how they keep loving their dead,
knowing my ritual concretizes
a sentiment in line with his suggestions.
these corporeal remains,
deeply buried, mostly unknown and untended,
resourcefully transformed over time
signify my greatest fear: forgetfulness.
these seasonal flowers, small waving flags,
sacred marble inscriptions
and angel figurines over-looking it all
signify my greatest hope: that in the act of remembering
something goes from grey to green,
that in making the death my own,
our loss will no longer
harm me.
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