above

Do you think you can choose where to bury someone?
(in your mind, I mean).

I am on a tiny island. It smells like flowers. The whole place – like flowers and the sun. Summer.

People here smoke and drink strong coffee. They fish. They have leathery.brown.skin. And they walk slowly.

I find myself heading uphill. Through tiny cobbled streets, towards the sky. I am above roof.tops. Above the turquoise sea.

I emerge from a little laneway, to greenery, new spring leaves. Phosphorescent. And I realise that it is a cemetery.

A dull.ache.in.my.throat catches me from crying.

She was buried somewhere that is not her. It is cold and lonely. It hurts there. But here it is warm. This place stretches your legs and unclenches your fists.

(In my mind, it is where she is).