Burial plots

i've only ever seen 
one person get buried;
my aunt Joan, who crawled
into the hole in the earth
on her hands & knees,
a little girl laughing 
her way into the soil.
her mind had come out like
ribbon for years, so 
we tossed it down into the hole.

on my chest they will dig
two burial plots side-by-side.
the doctor asks who i 
want to entomb there &
i can't decide.

i drop sea shells into
them, equal, one for each,
the shells from the trip
to Chincoteague Island 
i took with a boy who
dug the girlhood from
my body & made earrings 
out of it.

breaking my father's pocket
watch in two, i plant
one on each side. minute hand
to the left, hour hand 
the right. keeping time 
deep down in my rocky earth,
this is for aunt Joan 
so she knows how much
we've grown.

i think i might not 
believe in anything after 
death & that scares me. 
i try, i really do. i tell
people that i believe in
energy & i do think
i believe in god, but 
then i look at the dirt 
& i can't trust any of that.

dropping clothing into
each burial plot they fill
up with dresses. each dress
is a buried girl, not me,
but some girl somewhere,
if you were once a girl you
can't bury that, there's
no hole deep enough.

i want to crawl into
my own chest before
they sew it up, deep down 
where the roots make yo-yos
of human corpses. down there
i could find my aunt Joan
& tell her that i loved
her even though i couldn't
cry at her funeral. 
i'd ask if she loves as
a boy & she'd nod.

instead i get the shovel,
throw in a handful of jewelry,
which clinks on the coffin lids.
whose coffins?
i don't think i'll ever know.

aunt Joan gets a shovel 
& helps me. when we finish 
i tell her she should be getting
back home so i dig a hole
in my yard for her to
crawl into.