The dark and deepened hues of the second solstice signal that
It's time.
A year since, and one could argue that the decision to go now is a late one.
"Better late than dead," you always said.
If we had known before,
We might have listened to more from you.
****
The ground hardened early last year. You were interred once jackhammers and frost teeth had removed the cold earth.
I remember thinking it would ease your repose. I read somewhere that the ground swells
When the body decomposes.
"Perhaps," I thought, "the frozen temps will ease this process." Forgetting that you will not feel it.
It will not pain you.
You will not know.
****
Morning rime gives the simple grey granite of your headstone a sheen we couldn't afford to have manufactured.
Emerald pearl, stardust, polished, and diamond-engraved. These, they told us,
Would honor you best.
Honor you best?
My dearest, we would have emptied our savings
If we thought it would bring you back.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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