March
by Billy Internicola


She was dead in February
and although it's warmer now she still is.
They couldn't cover the gaping muddy hole
and it was so cold that day
paralyzing cold and I remember thinking
So that is exactly six feet down.

My wife grabbed my arm and remarked
that I wasn't crying.
I'm not sure why I wasn't
except to say that I knew come March that
this cemetery mud would be dry
still caked to the bottom
of my good black shoes
and that I would cry then
when I had some time to be alone.






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