for Cedar Sigo
The first fossil of my grandmother is the light they used to find her cancer, how it slithered through her body like a snake.
The second fossil of my grandmother is the sparrow of her voice, how it woke me often,
calling in the night.
The third fossil of my grandmother is the sampler she kept above her bed stitched with
Suffering brings us closer to the Lord.
The fourth fossil of my grandmother is the dream I had where she was dying; I was climbing down her hair as down a rope.
The fifth fossil of my grandmother is her shoulder, the way I used to hold it as a girl.
The sixth fossil of my grandmother is the phone call I promised but never made.
The seventh fossil of my grandmother is the Bible she offered that I never bothered to open or
to read.
The eighth fossil of my grandmother is the lightning that snapped a slashpine the moment
she left.
The ninth fossil of my grandmother doesn’t exist.
The tenth fossil doesn’t exist.
The eleventh fossil, lost.
The twelfth fossil is me.
