Caroline and Amanda are mother and daughter: grandmother and mother to Rosie May.

Our little granddaughter Rosie May is buried in the church opposite my house. It's a joy to be her grandmother, to have held her, to have touched her face, her fingers, and to kiss her hello, goodbye. I can see her little grave from my garden and feel proud when people stop and read her cross and look at her beads, her shells, her rose petals scattered there.

But my sadness is unbearable when I see Amanda's car outside and there she is, scissors in hand, long hair trailing the grave as she cuts the grass and deadheads the flowers, washing beads and shells, smiling and happy for a moment. Last night as dusk fell there she was again tending our baby angel.

Caroline

For Rosie May

I deadhead flowers

At your grave

Arrange your shells

As tenderly as if

Soothing your brow

Or wiping your tears.

I pull up weeds, 

Polish your stones

As lovingly as rocking you to sleep

I hold my memory of you

Lovingly in my heart

I hold it

As I should be holding you.

Amanda