“Noon Hour Memorial for Edward,” New Era, Aug. 1987, 20
South wind clipped the prayer
word-thin. We heard only syllables
but you, child, watched from
another side, eyes
couched in the dusty carnations and ribbon
blown over your sister.
We twisted in our full skirts;
wind melted transparent scarves
over older women’s heads.
I could not hear you circle those dark angles
scissored at our feet until
hands crushed together
and your head pressed my thigh.
Then brown grass crept under
your shoes, not waiting for “amens”
or petals to lower out of the wind.