the living

she would
pull over onto
the grassy slope
where there were
no graves, not yet.
and say, wait here,
i'll be right back.
sometimes there
was rain,
or a light snow
falling, and the markers
most low and uneven
stretched out across
the rolling
plain, no one
that the world
deemed important
seem to lie here,
no angels stood high,
no marble statues,
or headstones,
but, she came
each year because
blood was
quite enough to pay
respect.