We all bury people.
\nWe all get buried ourselves.
\nNot in the gold fall of autumn,
\nor the drenching monsoon of rain.
\nBut in the intangible loss
\nof a bare table.
\nThe missing space in an album.
\nThe tune
\nthat refuses to sing in our memory.
\nAnd that\u2019s when I go out
\nand put seeds in my garden.
\nDig holes in the earth,
\nnot for coffins,
\nbut for roots.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s when I invite strangers in
\nto hear my words,
\nnot about the missing,
\nbut the town I\u2019m going to next year.
\nTo see the sights,
\nthe boats come in,
\nand privately,
\nto find my lost loved one.
\nTo put something back in my heart.
\nSo coming back,
\nI find what was missing
\nfrom the table,
\nhow the seeds came up,
\nhow deep the roots ran
\ninto the earth,
\nand the sigh of someone\u2019s breath
\non my face when I retire,
\nthat lets me welcome dreams again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We all bury people. We all get buried ourselves. Not in the gold fall of autumn, or the drenching monsoon of rain. But in the…<\/p>\n