My mother and my father were buried at Woodlawn,

And I have not been there since. She with her sisters

Went to their mother's stone each Memorial Day,

Long trolley-ride, long walk, carrying flowers.

I could go quickly to them all, in my own car,

But they are not there. And if I do not go,

They cannot wait there expecting me to visit.

Because their mother had, the daughters went,

Or to make sure no one had moved over, or left.

What are the sanctities of a cemeterian?

Times change. All the dead are more alive to us

Than their dead were to them. My aunts and mother

Made believe be less lonely, saving all year

To say in one day what life had been too long for.

They trimmed long grass and turned the caked soil

With scissors and trowel, for the not saying.