Clean Dirt

 

 

The grave’s too new

 

headstone’s too new

 

granite and liver-flocked pink,

 

to fit in East Texas’ lush greenness. 

 

 

Standing here gains slightly 

 

from the ground that’s green

 

the saw-mill sounds across the highway

 

that wouldn’t have bothered my father.

 

 

The next space waits

 

with my mother’s name.

 

This story has no moral,

 

a World War Two plaque and one

 

cut stem of Peace rose in a borrowed vase.