Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Looking for You

by Christina Kessinger

One December in Tucson, ten years
later, we drove a borrowed
car down Miracle Mile, the three
of us, your mother and two
sisters

I wondered what miracle
could possibly have taken
place on that
wide strip of asphalt, cheap
motels and fast food
joints hawking themselves
hopelessly in the vast blue
afternoon

We stopped for flowers and
parked behind the iron gates
discovering
as we set out beyond the
steadfast angels,
that the cemetery had
blossomed in our absence with
hundreds of new stones

We picked our way unsteadily
among them and as we wearied
and our voices became small
and lost, secretly
I was glad as each stone
revealed the name
of another for I did not
want to find you there

Finally, the practical one,
your oldest sister, went to ask the
gatekeeper, who found you on
his little map, and led us,
like children
to your grave

And there it was, unfathomability
chiseled into a cold,
grey stone,
that sinks and buries
itself, forever and
forever looking for
you.