and the wallet wherein she kept her bro's
health insurance card, should he need
some post-mortem care, perhaps resurrection.

Under the sill, she buried the purple beads necklace
he had asked for but she never got to give him
(since, it hung in her room, nailed up like a bloody
crucifix). She added a wedding band, tarnished
and thin, perhaps from war time.

Was that all? Incongruously, she pushed in a bag
of sunflower seeds. Long expired, dead, and the bag
was sealed, though dampness would soon cause
the paper to rot, set the content free.

Old seeds wouldn't sprout. They'd silently hide
keeping company with the rest. Overhead
they'd feel the passage of people, seasons, time.
Quietly, they'd just linger, just wait.