Taking Your Time

At the grave it wasn’t possible
to sway your casket completely in
because the plot had been dug just a
little little for your little frame. And
then, perhaps because all mothers tend

awkward moments by offering some
help, my mother—your nana—took a
a watchful breath and asked whether we should
all just pop home for a cup of tea
Then we’d come back, of course, after the
digging had been done. And because child-
ren don’t know much about holes that
need to be filled, the boys stood and raised
happy balloons for you, their sister.

The council man was carefully clipp-
ing that small divide between paddocks
and graves. A competition of stinks:
cattle turds and everlasting rest.
Taking a shovel, said he’d only been
following his plans, but look love,
it won’t take long. And there it was, what
children know. How the end is more and
short is long and little is big. For

when it came time to lower you down
stars were brimming from the rim of the
earth, balloons bursting out of the skin
of the sky. After which, we all popped
home for a cup of tea, well-deserved my
mother said.