In the St. Augustine Cemetery I visit at the old gravesite of the deceased annually I saw the quiet grave keeper still standing there looking dazed and confused By the looks of things: My father resting place still soaks up all the tears
My mother and other siblings said to me That to visit any one grave site wasn’t their kind of thing
I buried my father underground: It have been so long Since then, the birds would come to the house of my father Looking for breadcrumbs from days old bread The dead will not be forgotten, his name will lives on
When I was a toddler, he fed me white rice with butter Sprinkled with black pepper and grated cheese: With my weak voice I was say “thank you: he was so please
I buried my father in the St. Augustine cemetery It’s one of the saddest places to visit, Unlike seasonal passes tickets So adjacent, those graves: so annoying those wild crickets
He might be far away from his home, but not from our hearts Everything on his grave seem so square and flat, But the most outstanding piece was the letters that read R.I.P: what I saw was (Rescue Innocent Perry)
Sometimes, I wondered about the dead About their done deals: their final feast I buried my father there, but not his memories
I saw the old mahogany tree still standing tall the pieces of kindling wood, he made for grilling,
I will always remember him, and I know he might be Thinking of me, his poetic daughter especially on that day when I accompany him to cut the branches from the old Mahogany tree, just to make backyard wood fire For the family breakfast, lunch and supper I buried my father: the naïve share cropper:
Memories, sadness Mahanay tree, death , wood fire, family, sharecropper