The urn at my parents graves was turned upside down
Like they do in the winter but there being no one who came with flowers
It stayed that way until mid-summer.
The urn’s broken base sat next to their names like a plate dropped at dinner
That my mother would spread out at the table and glue back together
Then then make it the bottom plate, the one never used.
I rolled the urn over and a tiny gray mouse leaped out
His home upended like the urn, my parents’ pet, their friend
He waited in the grass, looking back to make sure he had to leave.
I left stones on their stone but ones not as pretty as last year’s
I’d taken more time choosing then from the ten million beach stones
I found last year’s gems in the grass near where the mouse waited.