Months To Years Spring 2018 Months To Years Spring 2018 - Page 36

By Margaret Mary Shaw

Three Headstones

By Margaret Mary Shaw

I . Early this morning we hurried To the flower shop Before the bus came .
The old woman working Recognized my mother , Saying she remembers My grandparents . Her blue-veined hands Picked out the heaviest Chrysanthemums . She looked to us and smiled , Sharing that they were strong And would look nice Against the gray headstones . She placed them in an empty Plastic bottle and wished us All the best .
II . On the bus , the flowers Sway in my hands Losing a few petals Beside the ripped vinyl seats .
III . The gloss of the chalky granite Has softened from years of rain And the weight of snow . I pour the water And watch as the cracks begin to darken Then bleed down the stone Beside their names , Around the years , Then into the overgrown weeds At our feet .
IV . As we pick up the spades And kneel down to our knees , The sparrows gather above us , Fly up in dark spurts , Then dip towards the fields Just past the gate .
Our hands fold In prayer for A moment ,
Then we find The roots And pull .
We drive down roads Of torn skin , Pockmarked And discolored .
Mary Margaret Shaw is a junior at The University of Wisconsin of Eau-Claire , currently studying Critical Studies in Literature , Film , and Culture . She is a first generation American as both her parents emigrated : her father from Canada and her mother from Ukraine . She loves fat cats and has a fear of pet fish .
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Three Headstones III. By Margaret Mary Shaw The gloss of the chalky granite I. And the weight of snow. Early this morning we hurried I pour the water To the flower shop And watch as Before the bus came. the cracks begin to darken Has softened from years of rain Then bleed down the stone The old woman working Beside their names, Recognized my mother, Around the years, Saying she remembers Then into the overgrown weeds My grandparents. At our feet. Her blue-veined hands Picked out the heaviest IV. Chrysanthemums. As we pick up the spades She looked to us and smiled, And kneel down to our knees, Sharing that they were strong The sparrows gather above us, And would look nice Fly up in dark spurts, Against the gray headstones. Then dip towards the fields She placed them in an empty Just past the gate. Plastic bottle and wished us All the best. Our hands fold In prayer for II. A moment, On the bus, the flowers Sway in my hands Then we find )1½Ν₯Ήœ„™•άΑ•Ρ…±ΜQ‘”Ι½½ΡΜ) •Ν₯‘”Ρ‘”Ι₯ΑΑ•Ω₯Ήε°Ν•…ΡΜΈΉΑΥ±°Έ)]”‘Ι₯Ω”‘½έΈΙ½…‘Μ)=˜Ρ½ΙΈΝ­₯Έ°)A½­΅…Ι­•5…Ιδ5…ɝ…ɕЁM‘…܁₯́„©ΥΉ₯½Θ…ЁQ‘”UΉ₯Ω•ΙΝ₯Ρ䁽˜)Ή‘₯͍½±½Ι•Έ]₯͍½ΉΝ₯Έ½˜…Τ΅ ±…₯Ι”°ΥΙΙ•ΉΡ±δΝΡΥ‘ε₯Ήœ Ι₯Ρ₯…°)MΡΥ‘₯•Μ₯Έ1₯Ρ•Ι…ΡΥΙ”°₯±΄°…Ή Υ±ΡΥΙ”ΈM‘”₯́„™₯ΙΝΠ)•Ή•Ι…Ρ₯½Έ΅•Ι₯…Έ…́‰½Ρ ‘•ΘΑ…Ι•ΉΡ́•΅₯Ι…Ρ•θ)‘•Θ™…Ρ‘•Θ™Ι½΄ …Ή…‘„…Ή‘•Θ΅½Ρ‘•Θ™Ι½΄U­Ι…₯Ή”Έ)M‘”±½Ω•Μ™…Ё…Ρ́…Ή‘…́„™•…ȁ½˜Α•Π™₯Ν Έ(ΜΨ+ €