At my aunt’s unveiling, my mother said there were sixty people.
She said a lot of people spoke, or read poetry.
And she said she didn’t cry.
You know how people put rocks on gravestones? she asked me.
Well, your uncle brought a bag of her rocks.
They had traveled across the world together,
and she had taken home stones from six continents and had carefully labeled each one.
My mom said my uncle took the bag of rocks to the cemetery
and carefully placed them, one by one, on her grave,
held onto the headstone, and said something like:
You will always be able to travel to these places with me.