i dig my toe into the dirt pushing the cigarette butt away. She didn't smoke so I can't imagine how it got there. the heat from the sun produces beads of sweat under my arms. My own ick begins to turn me off as I stand there staring. The last time I was here the sun was absent. Raindrops smeared my pink blazer while the heels of my patent leather shoes stuck to the wet dirt. My natural hair ruined with every passing minute, it couldn't end fast enough. It's been six months and her place here is only recognizable by the outline of the covered hole. Beside her he lies. My cousin, with his marquee,. Beloved son, father, grandson and great-grandson. There are many more of us but for now I just want to see her. Continue my Sunday ritual. No longer do I circle the crowded streets for a parking space nearby. Churchfolks aren't in my way today. The aid with the ponytail and soft voice will not greet me at the door. The smell of midday stove-top coffee no longer tickles my nostrils. I hear a child's laughter from beyond the fence, the commentator from the city's football game on closed circuit, the uptempo of the latin beat and her voice with its heavy, southern drawl. The tears don't form like I expect. Instead, my eyes burn with fury at what is absent.
Her headstone.
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