Grief Shared

I’m seven walking with Mom

arm in arm to the cemetery.

All Souls and All Saints

Visiting the graves of her

parents in the village that was

home. Here in the old country.

Mom black clothed. Mourning.

What is she thinking. Me

excited to be up this late.

Candles flickering on gray stone.

A cold November night. Solemn

Grandparents. I do remember

long ago they came to visit once.

Grandmother thin hair pulled

back in a bun nape of her neck

silk dress deep purple small pale

flowers white lace collar cuffs

wire rimmed glasses. Grandfather

tickling white beard and black suit

always white shirt and tie formal.

Gone. In the grave. In the cemetery.

All Souls and All Saints

Mom is crying. I try to remember

them.  It is so hard so long ago.

I was three when I saw them last.

Now I’m seven.

I found a photo in Mom’s album. Me standing by my grandparents’ grave on another day.  Sunshine.  Solemn. My hands folded prayer-like under my chin looking down. I’m admiring my brand new black patent shoes. Thank goodness Mom could not mind read.

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