-some time ago

I accompanied an old friend to a funeral.

deceased, was his former wife's mother,

the former wife, also my friend.

after the graveside service, those paying their final, final respects
filed into their cars closing the doors to the ceremony.

I expected to do the same.

after a burial you walk away
slowly, but surely and drive to breakfast at the diner.

but my friend stayed behind,
walking the pathways of the little cemetery
considering gravestones while I tagged along
biding my time to reach proper closure of the experience

over a utilitarian diner-plate of eggs over easy and home fries. 

then this:

he stopped to look at a stone.

he looked more intensely here than

he did to any of the other stones.

as to this stone, it’s all in the name etched thereinto.

this is the grave of someone he knew when

she was young and so was he.

he spoke her name aloud to the ether, or, 
to something other than me, questioning
if it was her or somebody unknown with the same name.

but reasoning soon found it certainly was her.

lo, these many years and suddenly there she is
(could be dressed in blue chiffon and slingback pumps)

showing-up dead to an old friend's reunion.

later, I ordered a short stack under a generous spiral
of “Vermont Maid” maple syrup and coffee.