April 18 Prompt - After the mud dries
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Old Man
There’s a mighty tree at the head
of your grave. It’s the same place she sat
and grew roots when the water ran
from her face to feet, and flooded
the cemetery with an armful of aching.
She didn’t finalize your death
with a tombstone. After the mud dried
she patted an acorn into a hole. Then swept
up a handful of the dust, and died trying
to blow life into it.
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Inheritence
For Mother's Day, she takes me to a spa
for the full treatment - manicure, pedicure,
massage, facial. I'm accustomed
to pampering, not being the pamperee,
but Tyler insists. I tell her to stop
making me laugh, to wait until after the mud dries
so it doesn't crack my face. She giggles
just like she did when she was five
and I'd tell her to stop wriggling
while I struggled to plait her hair
into french braids. My guinea pig
for all things girlie. She managed to survive,
she laughs, and runs a brush through her hair,
recites the list of names they've picked
if it's a girl or a boy while the attendant
paints her toenails. Perhaps she'll take after
her grandmother and make mud pies
in your kitchen, giving away my preference.
You'll be so much better, my daughter,
at passing on the feminine mysteries
that this tomboy had to learn on the job.