teach your children to walk in graveyards &
hopscotch to heaven

1.
i took a handful of fresh
soil & my father told
me to put it back--
the patch of dirt
 was warm & soft from 
the sun with the texture of
oatmeal--
when i was four my father
& i walked through cemeteries 
as much as playgrounds--

2.
i got to know the residents

3.
there was the boy 
who swallowed his father's watch
& with an ear up against the
head stone i counted the click
of the second hand

4.
the man who one hand buried
his missing limb
on the other side of the 
property 
between the mausoleums--
i leave his arm flowers--

5.
we undress the crayons
& make rubbings of the names on
the tombstones-- especially 
the gnarled-face ones
where the rain has eaten
all the words away
& left only the 
mumbling of the ghosts
sitting on the 
marble bench trying to
recall each other's names

6.
i over hear them 
George? NO
Anthony? NO
Was my father named 
Augustus or 
did I read that somewhere?
they look at me when they
realize i can hear them--
walk away confused & 
disquieted to see
a child able to listen to
the dead--

7.
i their plant plastic 
daffodils & tulips
in the ground so that they 
might find their roots--
be spurred on to 
become real by the 
community of death around them--

8.
they wilt

9.
i dare the stone angels
to fly-- they weep-- kneeling
above the entrance to the 
stone cottages--
they weep & plead to be left
alone--

10.
why did god give us
angels stone-wings?

11.
i walk inside-- wipe my feet
at the door to join the
family all playing
black jack on the mausoleum 
floor-- 
i don't ask to play
but i like to watch 

12.
when i say goodbye
the angels ask where
i come & go from--
i tell them 
nowhere
when they ask who
i talk to--
i say 
no one
& my father calls again
& they tilt their heads
to ask if
i heard the faint
voice
of the wind--
stuff the crayon rubbings
in my sweater--
dart between the
head stones-- like 
hopscotch squares.