greeted me with a smile.
As if I was walking through a hall of the elderly,
and the good who died too young.
To my right, my grandmother and her twin
grab my hand and welcome me
as if they were church greeters.
I hear the echoes of an old friend
who tapped me on my shoulder.
At seventeen,
she passed away in a car accident,
and it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
It’s as if nothing ever happened,
time kept moving on.
She made me wonder if time
as we knew it on earth,
was a feather and a rock in a vacuum.
They both fall at the same rate,
it’s a matter of which gets dropped first.
I took a step back,
bumped into my grandfather,
and an uncle I was unable to meet in life.
They seemed to know me better
than I knew myself.
My uncle addressed all the time spent reading
this book he owned, called Happiness.
He loved how I paid special attention
to the highlights and notes in the margins,
trying to get to know who he use to be.
A great aunt and uncle of mine stole me away
from my conversation.
My great uncle said,
"Thanks for the eulogy,
I know you didn't mean to write it,
but I'm happy it kick started your career."
I laughed as my great aunt
expressed how it comforted her,
even if it was full of typos.
My attention turned to man standing alone,
I walk toward him, shake his hand.
Sad eyes look toward me.
Saying how sorry he was for
leaping in the bucket prior to my birth.
Talking time, and how he wished he lived longer.
I let him know he has all the time he needs.
He reminded me of a line I wrote years ago,
only in my dreams,
can a cemetery be a getaway.
