His Grave Has Turned
“Come memory, let’s seek them there in the shadows.”
The last time we
we saw that –somehow– his gravestone
had shifted from facing
south to nearly southeast.
As if, sitting on my desk at night, gazing northwest,
I had somehow
willed him once again
turn to me as the seven-year old he was
before we placed him, his teddy bear
and his blanket, in a five-foot
and lowered him into eternity.
Perhaps the soil has settled,
the groundskeeper might suggest
maybe they just stood the stone back wrong
after the night the vandals came
and punished him for dying.
sitting on my desk at night
Under the large, few stars,
I face the northwest and strain
muscle in my face,
focusing on that stone willing him to turn toward
just a little bit more.
Potentially, might be ...