African Violet
my mom and I had found some nice logs, all piled up in a lush clearing. the grass was bright, bright green. we were later turning them into long planks of cedar. the man working the machine asked us where we found such good wood. it was hard to explain, i sort of pointed in the general direction and left it at that.
later my father and I drove to the place where he and my mom were to be buried. my sister and i stopped along the path, where it over hung a waterfall and we leaned up against the wood fence. the water went over dark brown rocks and cascaded into the valley below, which was full of trees thousands of feet beneath us.
we came up to the grave site. it was a small garden, enclosed my the standard chicken wire and about 6 feet across, maybe 20 feet lengthwise. there were two rows of foot and a half long squares, partitioned with string, or just lines drawn in the misty grey sandy brown earth. most squares had flowers planted within them.
my dad pointed to one. it, along with the other in the same column, was bare. my sister carved a symbol into the other square. I was so mad at her, for doing that. I told her she didn’t know what it meant, or who it was for. she said she did know what it meant and immediately it’s meaning became deeply clear. she was just as mad at me for erasing it, because it was supposed to go to who ever was to be buried there.
later the three of us ate in a small, yellowish kitchen with a power line coming into the outside wall opposing the door. i was short, barely seeing up over the counter. my dad had made a kidney bean and vegetable salad with some rice, and there was chicken, beans, and tortillas with cheese as well. there wasn’t quite enough of everything, so I chose rice and my sister chose chicken. it was tasty, and the cheese squirted everywhere.
