Rainbows with no end

grave at the family cemetary

Thirteen---It’s hard for her to comprehend
how one could die so young, ‘a shame’
she says as we stand over the stone & I know

walking a graveyard is an auspicious way
for a date to end, but I am setting precedent
for the next boy to come along and try to win
her hand--- (rewind)

Have her home at a good time,’ and I answer,
'Yes, sir,’ help her into the car & minutes later
we’re eating ice cream at a roadside stand,
without tables, we lean on a rail, her Cotton Candy
Explosion living up to its name, layer upon layer
of napkins wrapped round the cone become
a pink sticky mess as she tries to keep up,
when a light rain descends, not even  enough
to dampen our shirts, but leaves pearls glistening
in our hair & spins a rainbow,
which she says has no end ---like magic in moments
you can never manufacture

Gently, I take her hands in mine and press them in-
to the clay base where it kisses the potter’s wheel,
pressure form a cup, which I keep having to patch
in places she wears thin & when done, in a lopsided
kinda way, she claps sending clay in wet showers
across our shirts & we’re laughing—it’s just laundry,
unwilling to waste precious time getting upset

Returning home, we ride bikes to the graveyard
walk slow among the dead, talking about which
she might be related to---because that interests her
making it important to me, until back to the beginning
we stand before a girl who died at age

Thirteen---which, at eight, seems a long way off to her,
but young enough to shiver in its shadow
‘Uncle Brian, this is the best date I ever had,’
makes me smile, then, ‘well, It’s the only date
I ever had,’ we laugh again

Her small hand finding mine as a brown hair bunny
nibbles tall grass at the base of another head stone,
the sun painting everything orange---

And I tell her, 'Never accept anything less.'

written for Imperfect Prose