‘Every Secret Is a Little Casket’, ‘Death of a Neighbor’, ‘To Live’

Every Secret is a Little Casket

When we got to my father’s grave, my mother

apologized. Anthills puckered at the seams

of the grave. Crabgrass hemmed in the nameplate.

It was a flat grave, not high but deep. Another

beside it with her name and single date seemed

to wait, undisturbed. Seemed to wait.

Tending was what she thought she hadn’t done:

tiny minutes unstitched . . .