Sara J. Sutter
Leaving the static of the vigil, I breathe
mists of tears. Solemnly nodding, acknowledging
swatches of tulips, daffodils, lilies, her favorites;
she always took pride in her stemware.
I push against the heavy brass door
with my shoulder. Lassoing my neck
with her scarf, I walk to and lean against the cold
parked car at the back of the shoveled lot, where
I see the Keeper sipping from a mug.
He breathes streams f steam ahead
while checking his watch. He notices
my cigarette and remembers my family,
gesturing significantly
yet silently across. I crunch
over fallen cumulus, full of care,
and pass him my smoke.
He graciously inhales.