"Online Cemetery"
(Jessie Carty)
In the photo, your tombstone
looks too new. Clean
and bedecked with a fresh
arrangement of white
carnations. The dates, 1968
to 1970 are ancient
history and I wonder
about the flowers
since your father,
our father, is no
where near your grave.
I had forgotten
your mother, not my
mother, who is still alive
as is a brother (half for me)
that we share. I do
the family math
wondering if your
death precipitated
your parents
divorce. By 1971
your father would marry
my mother. I was born
only five years after
you died. What
would it have been like
to have had an older sister?
Would you have braided
my hair as I liked to do
for my younger sisters?
Or would I have even
ever seen you
since you would have lived
a state away?
Before this picture
of your tombstone online,
the last picture I saw
of you was in your
baby book which my father
sometimes drunkenly
cried over. Your face in all
the pictures was at least
half covered by what I call
a tumor. I don’t know
if that is what killed you. I
only know your name
and that if I had had a daughter
it is the name I wanted
to give my child, the name
of a great grandmother
that, like you,
I never met.
looks too new. Clean
and bedecked with a fresh
arrangement of white
carnations. The dates, 1968
to 1970 are ancient
history and I wonder
about the flowers
since your father,
our father, is no
where near your grave.
I had forgotten
your mother, not my
mother, who is still alive
as is a brother (half for me)
that we share. I do
the family math
wondering if your
death precipitated
your parents
divorce. By 1971
your father would marry
my mother. I was born
only five years after
you died. What
would it have been like
to have had an older sister?
Would you have braided
my hair as I liked to do
for my younger sisters?
Or would I have even
ever seen you
since you would have lived
a state away?
Before this picture
of your tombstone online,
the last picture I saw
of you was in your
baby book which my father
sometimes drunkenly
cried over. Your face in all
the pictures was at least
half covered by what I call
a tumor. I don’t know
if that is what killed you. I
only know your name
and that if I had had a daughter
it is the name I wanted
to give my child, the name
of a great grandmother
that, like you,
I never met.
JESSIE CARTY will read this Saturday at the Georgia Center for the Book, along with other poets from the Sibling Rivalry Press of Little Rock, Arkansas. Her writing has appeared in MARGIE, decomP, Connotation Press, Barely South, The Meadowland Review, and elsewhere. She is the author of five poetry collections which include the upcoming chapbook An Amateur Marriage (Finishing Line, 2012) and the full length poetry collection Paper House (Folded Word 2010), At the A&P Meridem, Fat Girl, and What if We Could Morph? She is the founding editor of Referential Magazine and edits Shape of a Box, a YouTube literary magazine. She grew up in "the rinky-dink areas of northeast NC." About North Carolina barbeque she told an interviewer: There have been whole books written about the BBQ debate, but none about how BBQ relates to poetry. Her blog is jessiecarty.com. "Online Cemetery" appeared in Hamilton Stone Review.
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