It is said that to dance on a grave
Is disrespectful of the dead.
But now, in the sunlight of late May,
The children dance on their great-grandmother’s grave.
My mother would rejoice to see their impish faces,
The unbridled way they run and sing and frolic
Upon her grave, completely at ease
Among bold red geraniums
As those of us who loved her
Stand and watch,
In the memories that the dancing stirs up.