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I've never visited my grandparents' grave 
not since their burials 
many moons ago 
when I was young 
and didn't understand why people die 

I was apprehensive about it 
would they be mad at me for not showing up 
all these years? 
would they be sad I have stayed away so long? 
would they even know me? 

I took my granddaughter along 
a conversation breaker 
they've never seen her before 
it would be a treat for them to meet her 

I push Alyssa in her buggy 
she won't keep her hat on 
nor her mittens 
nor her boots 

Fernhill Cemetery 
brown maple and oak leaves 
chasing each other around the stones 
soon snow will cover this cold hill 
but for now poppies and flags still decorate 
after recent days of remembrance 

there's a chill in the air 
wind whipping off the Bay of Fundy 
nothing warm about this place 
except squirrels playing tag 

Bartlett, Frank & Jenny E. 

he was a woodsman 
she, a wonderful cook 
I can still picture them at the kitchen table 
playing Crazy 8's 
him, coming down hard with his fist, 
"Take that then!" 
her, daintily placing cards down 
on her way to a satisfied smile of victory 

him, building a log cabin from scratch 
near Cappal Lake 
her, kneading dough 
nails scratching an old tin basin 

my grandfather died first 
so they were separated for a time 
now together again 
sealed in 
still exclusive to each other 

winter will soon cover them 
with a blanket of snow 

I don't feel sad 
and no need for guilt after all 
my apprehension dismantled 
for I'm aware they aren't here 
I see beyond the bones

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