written By
It was near Memorial Day when she went into the earth
along with her neighbor and friend who died a month
or so after she did. This is in the frozen North where
winter burials are postponed until the ground thaws. I’d
given Carolyn a red rose to toss onto her mother’s coffin
after it was lowered to the bottom of the excavation, and I
had one for myself to toss onto my mother’s coffin. It was
a lovely spring day. The group had gathered, and my plan
was to recite Emily Dickinson’s Ample make this bed, but
as I was about to begin I knew I couldn’t. I turned, walked
thirty feet away knowing my eyes would gush if I spoke
a word of that poem. So our belovèd, concluded mothers
went into the earth with no poem, no last, small blessing.
