My cousin Francis died
in the river he walked into;
he left behind a family
who had only wondered when.
My mother, on her deathbed,
demanded from a priest
that the Church apologize to her;
she gave it absolution.
When my grandfather died,
the children didn't mourn him;
they laid one unspoken secret
with the casseroles at dinner
These stories are their testimony;
these stories are the flowers
I've laid upon their graves.
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