I don’t believe in fake flowers.
Just one more thing to pollute
the earth with plastic we don’t
need in the first place,
especially when we
have real flowers growing
right here in the hills.
But I do believe in
sharing stories
and songs
and sighs
over a fire at the
edge of the field
after the sun’s gone
down and dusk
is creeping out in purple
hues claiming the sky.
Our words floating
up with the smoke
to find our ancestors
to let them know
we keep them with us
to echo our hopes
we’ll be remembered too.