Buried Face

Buried Face

Charlene Kwiatkowski

I am carrying my daughter through Mountain View cemetery,
slabs of stone like dominoes
embedded in dirt.
I see 1914. I see a future
with today’s date: April 3, 2020.
hush hush we all fall down

world wars, still births, car accidents,
house fires, a global virus ... so many ways

to go. So many tombstones plotted
in neat rows. As if death gives order.

COVID-19 is sweeping the world
like my father in a game of Risk
it’s about strategy, concentrating your efforts
the board a blur of red

If only this pandemic were a game
arranged at the living room table,
my family playing shoulder to shoulder
ring-a-round the rosie

In my pocket is a mask. The other day,
my daughter stuffed it in her mouth—a mouth
growing teeth. As she now sleeps

against my chest, I have the sudden urge
to lean over and kiss her apple cheeks.

Their brightness colours my walk efflorescent.

The sun is a peach rolling
out of a blue worth waking up for.

Lilac trees perfume the air
as if this year is no different.

Snow-dipped mountains drip
like that first summer ice cream.

A stranger walks by, glances at
my girl. You should turn her around

so she can see the world. Said so casually,
as if she knew me.

I smile.
I sigh.
I stroke my daughter’s back, pull her tight:

a response in a long line of parents
who think yes and no and maybe next time.

---

Charlene Kwiatkowski
Poet & Mother

Charlene’s debut poetry chapbook ‘Let Us Go Then’  came out December 2021 with the Alfred Gustav Press. Her work has appeared in Arc, CRUX, PRISM international, and elsewhere. She lives in Vancouver, BC where she works at an art gallery and occasionally blogs at textingthecity.wordpress.com

Photography Kyle Cleveland