This is the time of year my two old aunts
will reappear with bouquets of lilacs and glads,
and for hours they will waddle back and forth between
the graves. My timid aunt will read the names
and dates aloud and then translate the past.
My worldly aunt will nod or shrug and not
believe one word. Then she will wad her hankie
into her purse and reach for her chocolates.
My timid aunt will talk and water the plants
and straighten the pots. My worldly aunt will smile
and yawn. Then they will waddle to the car.
My timid aunt will be lively and confident;
and my worldly aunt, convinced that life is over,
will shake her head and appear almost lovable.