the august sun warmed my back
as the last row of flowers
were planted in dirt
dark as night
when the foreman
asked me to go
to the chapel and retrieve
the casket for burial
and place it beneath
a white, marble angel—
and as i headed that way
wondered how it was possible
for me to bring a body
from there to here
all by myself
forgetting the new section
reserved for babies—
and as the cool chapel air
slapped my face and eyes
adjusted to the shade
spied a small white box
by the altar
no bigger than one for shoes
you buy at the mall—
and as my heart pounded
i reverently raised it up
lighter than a breath
and carried the tiny package
to plot seventeen
and laid the box down
on green, green grass—
and after digging a hole
appropriately sized
planted one final sprout
mere moments
before grief-stricken parents
walked hand-in-hand
to stand
beside the neatly seeded
patch of ground.
