She was buried on a Sunday
in the final week of May
in a grave beneath a headstone
with her name, and with her dates

The procession was perfection:
sixteen cars behind the hearse.
And the priest was very good,
gave warmth and comfort with his words.

Not much changed after her passing:
she’d been old and on the way.
While remembered very fondly,
life flowed on from day to day.

Decades later Mary twists the lace
just so when tying her shoes,
never knowing that’s exactly
what great-grandma used to do.