Uncle Harold at the Graveyard

Last time I saw him
he had a hole in his foot the size of a quarter.
We could see the ground through it
and I picture the hole growing bigger,
finally taking over.

My cousins and I play Hide-and-Seek at the funeral.
We run over the headstones in our dark little suits and dresses.

I am hidden so they'll never find me,
flattened against the Pratt mausoleum.
It¹s cool like the cloth my mother brings me
when I have fever.  I let the marble
touch my arms, my belly.