Every weekend, your mother and I tour cemetery plots,
Father said, the way most people visit model homes.
We have different tastes. I like jutting hills
overlooking traffic, whereas she prefers a bed
of flowers. She desires a plot away from traffic noise.
I let her have her way in death to avoid a life of Hell.
But when you light memorial candles for us, arrange hers
in the center of a flowery tablecloth. But place mine
on the windowsill. Don't say any prayers for me,
just wet your finger and pass it through the flame.
Remember me by the tricks I have taught you.
~ from The Art of Losing, edited by Kevin Young
(Bloomsbury, 2010)
