Day 360

The child dug a hole in the ground
and put her doll into it.  
Then a stick, a rock, another rock.
Each thing had a name
of someone dead, the name
of her father, her brother, her mother, her friend.
The doll had her name, it was herself
buried in dust, beside others she loved.
She sat on the ground, staring
at the hole, the weeds she put near it
to honor them all, and herself
among them. She kept sitting
there; it was almost night.
Now and then she would smooth
the dust with her hand. She would talk
to them quietly as though she were dead
alongside them, as though they were all
lying there, buried under the stars, telling
stories to each other,
looking up at the jewelled sky.