Day 70

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. Emma says it is called his deathday, so today is Daddy's 38th deathday. It is always a difficult for me, but today was more comforting than usual. I want to post this long narrative poem I wrote about ghosts, but I think it is too much for this blog, so I will find a shorter poem.



But before I do that I want you to know that this horse is a neighbor's horse. She is the horse that Emma read the magical poem to last week and we are waiting to see if she sprouts wings. Today when we went to see her she was very frisky and really responded to our being there, it was like she'd sprouted wings for the first time this spring.



Hillside Cemetery

The cemetery sat
on the side of a hill.
A hole dug that
mid-March morning.
Leaves off trees
I waited for you
to come up that muddy hillside
to rush up to where I stood
encircled by family
looking behind me
instead of where
my eyes needed to be,
on the preacher.
“Dust to dust”
or
“Dirt to dirt.”
Placing earth upon
the wooden box that
encased my Father’s body.