Today I thought of how
closely my hands resemble my grandmother’s,
and of how hers looked in the coffin.
At the funeral,
I was asked to take pictures for my uncle,
and I’m not going to say that it was my proudest moment
to witness the side-eye glances of black-clad neighbors
and still have to hear the click and see the flash
to forever-remember the floral arrangements
and the way my grandmother’s hands looked.
Why my uncle couldn’t operate
a disposable camera himself
was something I didn’t ask, and so
for hours I perched on ripped heels in a cemetary
clicking and flashing and thinking that
the obituary should have contained the footnote
that cemetaries are grass and pliable earth
so it’s best not to wear heels,
lest you sink in,
and join the best of them.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
Today I thought of how
closely my hands resemble my grandmother’s,
and of how hers looked in the coffin.
At the funeral,
I was asked to take pictures for my uncle,
and I’m not going to say that it was my proudest moment
to witness the side-eye glances of black-clad neighbors
and still have to hear the click and see the flash
to forever-remember the floral arrangements
and the way my grandmother’s hands looked.
Why my uncle couldn’t operate
a disposable camera himself
was something I didn’t ask, and so
for hours I perched on ripped heels in a cemetary
clicking and flashing and thinking that
the obituary should have contained the footnote
that cemetaries are grass and pliable earth
so it’s best not to wear heels,
lest you sink in,
and join the best of them.
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