October

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For Arleen z"l

I remember

that mid-August day 

we climbed up from the road

and you said you liked this spot

because of the view,

the sun behind us

cast flickering veils of light

across the slopes of Mt. Royal, 

the green grass shimmered

like curtain velvet,

and the grey gravestones 

lit-up in uniform rows

like seats at a theatre -

you said this way

you'll come to visit 

once in a while,

and you were right

especially in October

when the trees are dancing

their burlesque,

a breezy yellow, orange, 

and red striptease 

(did you know already 

that you would be gone on the 18th?)

you loved stories

with a dramatic 

denouement,

and to laugh

before punch lines;

I still have the photos 

from that day showing you

posing on your just-bought plot,

looking too skinny,

like a fashion model

because they think 

the camera

adds ten pounds.

We joked around,

had no idea the weight

of the moment

when the shutter snapped.

I have regrets:

I wasn't attentive enough.

One always attends

to the place that hurts

the most, so these days

I come back often,

the view helps,

leave a rock.