Playing with the Dead

Playing with the Dead 

 

He didn’t know what “dead” was. Not really
He didn’t know what “God” or “Heaven” or “Hell” was

But he knew about rocks
he liked the rocks
The park was littered with them.

grey granite tally marks
each documenting a life

Atop one of them, A bird girl made of stone
looked at the ground under her feet
hands outstretched and open

He raised his hand showing her a small
caliche covered pebble
When she didn’t take it,
he threw it at her and laughed

I watched him for a while
playing with the dead
 “What’s all dees rocks for mama?”

He couldn’t read,
but he knew somehow
these rocks were different
they had a meaning
they were “for” something

My heart paused before it
wrapped around a reply
I felt he could understand

“When a person dies,
 their family buries them in the ground
Then they put the person’s name on a rock.
When they visit, they remember
the person who died,
and how much they loved them.”

His big blue eyes widened
like a gate
blown open by
an unseasonably strong
western wind

His innocence
escaped momentarily
like an over excited puppy
straying a bit too far
from the yard

And something unfamiliar
made its way in
something foreign
worn, and old

He looked all around him
counting all the tallies.
Tears escaped
and pooled in his dimples

I tried to wrap my arms around
his tiny frame
to comfort him
to let him know he was safe.

I tried to keep
his innocence
locked behind the gate
but I was too late

he ran
rejecting my embrace
and sat down in solidarity
with the rocks

        Mary Grace Parker
                2003-2005
         Beloved Daughter
           Taken too soon

Those too small fingers traced the letters
Like he did in school when
he learned to spell his name

He didn’t know what sound the shapes made
But he knew they were hers

He lowered his lips close to the grass
and whispered something to reassure her.

In that moment, he knew what death was
not like a child playing make believe
falling down when daddy
pretends to be the bad guy

But instead
like a living thing that knows
what it means to be fragile
and finite

He closed his eyes
and patted her on the head
as if to say
“You’ll be okay”

He took a deep breath
calling his innocence back inside
his baby blue eyes

he closed the gate
and shooed away
the old, worn, foreign visitor
telling him to come back
on a different day

His innocence
cozied up next to his heart
and returned him to me
unharmed

“Mama, we need get  doc-der,
he fix all da rock people!”

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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