That long gone year, that late summer afternoon

driving toward the cemetery


and when the rain started falling hard – and then harder

turning back toward home


and then – as if something were pulling me – 

pulling into a driveway and back again toward the grave.


Ridiculous as it was to park and kneel where he’d been buried

– to kneel in the rain – I laughed out loud! 


After a few minutes, I looked up and saw the other car idling,

the driver’s window rolled down.


The tears I wept were not tears of grief.

How many times must it happen before I believe?