Thursday we go to Kingman to put flowers on my father’s grave for Memorial Day. The we is my mother and I; this is our ninth year. To tell the truth, I would prefer to go alone – to buckle the pot in the backseat and just drive down by myself. I think my mother goes out of duty, kind of like notching each trip on a tree. We get there; we put the flowers out; I take pictures; she says well no need to stay; we leave.

I’d like to stay awhile, by myself, free to cry.