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.
