STONE ON STONE

“Caw caw caw crows shriek in the
white sun over the grave stones…”
         ~Allen Ginsberg, Kaddish

Headlights lit in the middle of the day
we follow the man (who I’d now call young) borne,
in heavy traffic through the heart of town
to a district of deceptive winding roads
and project housing with trampled lawns,
shattered bottles, and enumerable crows
that ignore the iron gates
guarding a deep narrow lot.

There, a phalanx of dull grey stones,
some leaning this way and that, and all
advancing toward a chapel of yellow brick.
This is our destination.

He’d said to me, not long before
I want to die
knowing full well I agreed,
suffering as he did, and for so long.

I still get lost whenever I return
to snatch up a chunk of gravel
from where we park, to place it
in remembrance on his stone.

Stone on stone, over the bones
of the man I called my father.

published in Bourgeon