I was 6 when my angelfish Abraham died.
Grandmother let me bury him
in a coffin made of clear plastic
Dixie cups taped together.
I didn't understand the concept
of sacred ground
or rest in peace
so I dug Abraham up occasionally
to make sure he was there.
Grandmother noticed the disturbed earth,
and explained about hallowed ground.
I stopped digging him up, but I looked for his coffin every spring
while we planted.
When I decided the man I loved
needed to live
I looked at him in the rear view
saw him standing on the porch through a dirt-filmed window,
like looking at Abraham.
As I drove I prayed I had outgrown the need
to dig up dead things
to make sure they're still there.
~Jamie L. Jackson (a long time ago)