by Rochelle Mitchell


All that remains of my family
Are names and dates etched in stone.
I stop to put flowers on my sister’s grave,
But the night calls.

Who shall die tonight so I shall live?
Someone’s sister or brother?
Husband or wife?
How many plots have I filled?

The crypts give no reply.
All is silent,
Except for the dry autumn leaves
Crackling under my feet.


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