in the car
sat next to my mother
sweating along to the country songs on the radio
my toenails scrape against the bottoms of my shoes
as i scuff the them against the worn carpeting
the car smells like very berry hibiscus
and black coffee that reminds me
of a place before they were gone
at the cemetery
it feels wrong to be alive
and i make sure not to step
directly onto the headstones
because the horror movies always warn
me of hands coming up through the dirt
but i can’t
help but to think of how nice
it would be to be held by my great grama
one last time
even if i got dirt in my eyes
it would be nice to see her again
i’m sorry that
i didn’t go near her coffin
i remember his funeral too
though i don’t know how many years ago
it happened to be
i cried the hardest
and i remember at her funeral
how my mom and sister were talking about how
proud they were that neither of them cried
like i did
and i felt small and weak and childish
but also
painfully human
i find that
it is easier to think of the cemetery
as more of a library for the dead
because most of them are as old
as the dewey decimal system
and i’m just pawing through the card catalogs
looking for a hand to hold
your parents are
under the c category
c for classen
c for caring
c for compassion
c for clarity
c for cherished memories
c for come back
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
in the car
sat next to my mother
sweating along to the country songs on the radio
my toenails scrape against the bottoms of my shoes
as i scuff the them against the worn carpeting
the car smells like very berry hibiscus
and black coffee that reminds me
of a place before they were gone
at the cemetery
it feels wrong to be alive
and i make sure not to step
directly onto the headstones
because the horror movies always warn
me of hands coming up through the dirt
but i can’t
help but to think of how nice
it would be to be held by my great grama
one last time
even if i got dirt in my eyes
it would be nice to see her again
i’m sorry that
i didn’t go near her coffin
i remember his funeral too
though i don’t know how many years ago
it happened to be
i cried the hardest
and i remember at her funeral
how my mom and sister were talking about how
proud they were that neither of them cried
like i did
and i felt small and weak and childish
but also
painfully human
i find that
it is easier to think of the cemetery
as more of a library for the dead
because most of them are as old
as the dewey decimal system
and i’m just pawing through the card catalogs
looking for a hand to hold
your parents are
under the c category
c for classen
c for caring
c for compassion
c for clarity
c for cherished memories
c for come back
