March 1, 2013


When young,
I was selected
to carry the dead,
shifting the heft
across uneven plots,
stepping over stones
where they remain
forever bound,
my polished shoes
dusted with dirt,
fresh from holes
dug deep in the ground.
It's not a lesson
we waste on the old.
Nor do we choose
who will carry us home,
when no one can be
so readily found.