Going to Mother's Grave
I thought of taking sturdy flowers,
blooming late into the season.
But I drag, she's gone so long,
buried when I was still young.
From afar I rarely visit
shun the stone, the shrubby greens.
Where's the spirit to remember?
Flowerpots don't take me there.
I saw her last, her soul departed,
laid in state for me to come,
hands and face by force unwrinkled,
waxy, alien, horrid scam.
She had tended graves of forebears
dutiful and dignified,
never deemed it futile effort
but remembrance magnified.
The photo of her birthday smile
at seventy, what sweet remembrance.
Graves means nothing to me, but
I take her flowers anyway.
Christa Pandey is actively involved in the Austin Poetry scene, aipf, the Texas Poetry Calendar and the Austin Poetry Society. Her work has appeared within these venues as well as in other anthologies.
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