Perpetual Care

I’m cutting through the graves to buy some milk,

my sneakers crunching on the gravel path.

The sky is blue and smooth as cheap, dry silk,

a bright and unforgiving aftermath.

Someone left a bunch of plastic flowers here

that the sun has scoured until they turned to bone.

They’ve tipped over in the wind, year after year,

next to a name I should have probably known.

A lawnmower must have caught the granite base

and left a jagged, fresh-white tooth of a scar.

I check my watch and try to pick up the pace,

feeling the weight of exactly where we are.