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Gravestones

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Good gracious. You again. And it is always you
asking to borrow cigarettes and time. We are
exhaling on the curb. Mouths heating with a
debate. Yellow town lights bleed desperate
wings against our faces. Testimonies of a good man
tonight. The “Jesus Camp” story, stoicism and
smoke smiles. My mother shot a man. The
ember pinches your fingertips with a desperate
kiss. Does that make her a bad woman? We all die.
Does it matter? The extinguished filters are expensively
buried. We woke with our names on gravestones today.

Source: Poetry (February 2017)

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This poem originally appeared in the February 2017 issue of Poetry magazine

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Gravestones

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