Tomorrow I will pick flowers

Flowers collected in my childhood at my family home stored
in one of my father’s college textbooks

Tomorrow, when tomorrow arrives,

I will go out and pick flowers.

I will place them carefully,

oh so carefully,

between the pages of an old book.

In that way years from now,

On some nice future day,

when grandchildren or great-grandchildren,

ask, as they inevitably will,

Ask about lives lost and changes,

and about all the whys and wherefores,

I will have them open the book,

probably a book of poetry,

those thick long words can dry anything quickly,

and turn the leaves and say,

Yes, but even among the graves, there was always beauty.

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