since the city fathers deigned to outlaw fireworks
on the fourth of july (or any time at all)
we have taken to going relative-hunting
and so we tramped through the woods
looking for three stones on the edge of a
golf course, crashing through the undergrowth
weeds and trees in our quest for origins
when we came upon the monuments we
laid flowers down in front, trying to read
the now-weathered carvings telling names
and births and deaths. this is the way of
littlepeace, we said, to always go on an
adventure that others would find absurb
illogical or morbid, but which we find
delightful. and so it is, and so i love
cemetaries and honouring the dead of
ages past. it is not a pasttime macabre
by any means, but one that ties me to
times and people past. the only part i
did not care to repeat was finding deer
ticks embedded in my flesh afterward.
to honour one’s ancestors, however, one
must be willing to risk personal comforts
in the name of tradition and adventure
