The Ritual

Between our tall houses where the sun couldn't reach,

Next to the sidewalk path that led to her backyard,

Sharon and I buried our favorite leaves.

We picked them from thousands

Piled in the yard, mine a red maple.

We knew why they fell,

Not understanding how in death

They had become so beautiful.

Sitting in the cool of the shade,

We each dug with kitchen spoons a shallow trench.

The departed wrapped in softest kleenex.

We placed our leaves in the graves

And covered them with the loose dirt,

Shoveling the black onto the white, so lightly,

Then stomping on them to pack it down.

We prayed children's prayers for the dead

And made a pact to meet at midnight

To watch the souls rise.

Andrine de la Rocha                                                                                                                         

posted 11/10/2010