Book of Poems

The Flowers on the Graves

I come running, my feet are dirty

stepping onto the cool, wet  grass late at night,

I walk towards them.

I dig the dry and the wet leaves off of them.

I prune them, breaking off the dead twigs,

to let the live ones show

I go to the other to do the same thing.

But there is no new life to let through, only dead roots.

Will it bloom again, I wonder,

on top the graves of the ones I loved.

I shovel the snow in front of them,

to make the path clearer.

Ginger and Kahina are right in front of me,

sleeping forever in their dirt beds,

giving life to the flowers above..

For my cats, Ginger and Kahina

I will never stop loving you