and my parents are laughing about their
graves again. Dad passes his offering
envelope down, points to paired drawings in
felt-tip pen. The first maps trees, paths and where
to find Mom, swooping cursive taking care
to note Here I am. Another: Route 10,
landmarks, lights and turn-by-turn directions
for birthday visits. In the car later
they knock at the windshield. We drive beside
the front gates and I refuse to look through
or touch a pamphlet which lists all you might