Noon Hour Memorial for Edward

by Nani Lii S. Furse

South wind clipped the prayer

word-thin. We heard only syllables

but you, child, watched from

another side, eyes

couched in the dusty carnations and ribbon

blown over your sister.

We twisted in our full skirts;

wind melted transparent scarves

over older women’s heads.

I could not hear you circle those dark angles

scissored at our feet until

hands crushed together

and your head pressed my thigh.

Then brown grass crept under

your shoes, not waiting for “amens”

or petals to lower out of the wind.

Photography by Lynn Howlett