You lie there, perfectly still,
the morning breeze slides away
leaving the sun to stare down,
and the birds fall into silence.
I gently touch the stone, feel
your cheek beneath my finger,
see your face, the college yearbook
photo all that I have of you.
I speak silently to you, telling
of my sixty-seven years, of your
grandsons and great grandchildren
and I sense your smile, and a tear.
Your parents are here, your
grandparents, sisters, brothers
and cousins, and I know give
you three generations more.
It is time for me to go, but these
moments are the most I have
of you, and as I place my small stone
atop yours, I now have a mother.
First Published in Culture & Identity, Vol. 2, The Poet (2022)