saturday was a wedding.
sunday was a funeral after a death on thursday.
she was 87, married 64 years when she buried her husband last fall,
burying her heart with him,
choosing her casket ahead of her time,
the palest of barely there baby girl pinks.
no somber goodbye colors for her.
she was saying hello, i think.
i wish for saturday's bride such a love.
my god, what a thing.
the cemetery was hot with july and few breezes,
and my drive home was sprinkled with raindrops,
with the smell of that rain against hot asphalt,
the way rain smells in the summer, when it is just a touch on your shoulder,
when you quick turn around look behind you and it's not there,
just its perfume hanging in the air.
just a ghost of rain.