Sunday, March 10, 2013


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

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