your eight decades-old abode.

Today with my three year-old

and red flowers, I came to your new one,

A sinking grave.

I remembered you saying:

"Coffins give way."

That was two decades ago. It was mother’s turn.

We brought red flowers

to this same place.

We rearranged your grave

Heavy wind blew out the candles.

When I placed the flowers

the child asked: "Will the thieves steal these, too?"

The cuteness of the question made me smile,

the way you used to.