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Flowers, Mostly Plastic
Read more from this authorby Michele McDannold


in the back yard
I had a big mound of sand
two times, maybe three, my heighth
supposing to play in
sometimes I even did
building castles, forts and things
more often than not, I sat on the edge of the yard
where there was a plot of concrete
planned once for a basketball court, I think
there I would sit
on the cool cement among the abandoned, rusting metal toy cars
and watch
I was watching the wind blow and the shadow fall
I was watching every tiny distracting sense of the moment
as it passed in the graveyard next door
I watched the people come, though not often
I watched the flowers, mostly plastic
I watched them fall and tumble
I watched them scoot, almost play
one day here, another there
among the gravestones
I watched the seasons change
the leaves on the trees to the ground
and the man working
I would hide then, behind the shed
watching in secret

how do they care for their dead?
(I did not think of that then)




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