Memorial Day A cousin tags me in the photo of the tombstone. It’s my name in liquid granite, not his, though neither of us are expected to live long, I expect I will outlive him. Is that why I hide the photo from my profile? Do I see my face reflected in glass? Am I afraid to go the way of my grandparents? That they might be lying in wait, robbers ready to spring out and seize me by the shoulders? Morning after Memorial Day I hide the photo I’m tagged in, tuck away the reminder to die in a loose digital sheaf and go on gassing up my lungs with oxygen. Rain deafens the house I sit in. Great swells of white noise ocean waves gather and disperse. My wife and children are sound asleep sleep the sounder for this. I examine the stone. Close my eyes and listen to the rain.
About the Author: Cameron Morse (he, him) is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and three children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.
Image Credit: Unknown Photographer “Clouds” (1871) Digital image courtesy of Getty’s Open Content Program.