story

Beneath the pink flowering tree, I saw a small grave sign, its name blurred with time. I thought, it must landmark a simpled, humbled person. And then I laughed at how I was, judging the dead by the size of granite and stone.

It had just rained before I stepped outside and into the cemetery. I couldn’t tell which part of me was sweat and which part was the scattered cubes of water mist, all which I thought were only there for myself, waiting for me to run and catch and cling them onto my arms. But then I looked at one of the bowing branches and pressed a petal between my forefinger and thumb. I felt that it was also wet - and in realizing that there was something more than myself, I felt relieved.

It was now past seven and I could see beyond the trees and down the street, people leaving their narrow homes and taking the last light. A shadow fell on the small grave sign from someone else’s pinnacle directly across the path. Before I left, I put both my palms on it, the tallest grave. I stared at the dust in the curves of Elliot – and felt the names of a man, his wife, and his three children echo in my hands.