Some Morning

Some morning
I will buy you
a bouquet of pink sweetheart roses
ones that I always see
at the local supermarket.

I will drive them to your house
and we will chat
and have a cup of that awful Folgers coffee
that you and brother 
call the nectar of the gods.

Afterwards, I will put stones
around flowers that my mother planted
in your husband's grave.
The stones will come from the beach 
across the street,
and one of the stones will be from my purse.
It is smooth and white 
and from the American campground
where we all spend so much time.

After he died you thought
you could never go back there
but you did.
We often go together.
You often believe that we take you there
but that's not true.
You are strong
and I know you miss him terribly
because I do too.

We all do.