my cousin graveside began to slip…
my mother and I caught her… one on each
arm… held her upright on the carpeted ground… she threw red roses into her
mother’s grave… my mother and I threw rosemary and lavender stolen from
strangers’ gardens… tied with ribbons cut from our clothing… a baby laughed —
waved a fat white fist at the rolling sky… the grandsons lowered my aunt into
her white sand grave… my uncle’s ashes went with her… unmentioned … it
was Mum’s day her second child said … afterwards as we had homemade cakes and sausage
rolls prepared by the Anglican Ladies… they stood at the servery window and
smiled as we ate…
at the wet dry
interface
wind builds sand grains
into dunes
waves lick the beach
into hard dark wrinkles
