September 28, 2015

Early Snow

In early winter,
cemetery roads
take us nowhere,
past dried-up flowers,
old, leaning stones
topped with snow.

On each one
we search for my mother,
wondering if
we'll find her here.
Through the car window,
we see stone after stone,
but none bear her name
after all these years.

In growing darkness,
I turn on the lights
and slow down,
so she might see
we're still near.
If I could only remember
where she sleeps,
but feel instead
like we've been
driving forever,
trying to find
where she's disappeared.