The Cemetery

The town's local cemetery is just a couple of blocks down the street from our home. Many of my old relatives are buried there. My grandparents from my mother's side. Uncles, aunts, and cousins. Some of them immigrated all the way to Oakland, Cali, USA. And upon their death, their last wish was to be returned to their mother land. That little quaint town out in the middle of nowhere. Their wishes were fulfilled and their bodies were returned to be buried in that local cemetery.

"Let's go to the cemetery, I want to see my mother," said my mother to me one morning.

"OK, let's go" I replied. And we set off to the cemetery. Down towards the cemetery the road was once again cobble stone and dusty.

We entered the cemetery and slowly walked around the sepulchers, tombstones, and grave markers. As we walked through the cemetery I saw the names of many known relatives, all now resting in peace. My mother stopped at several and said a prayer as I walked around the cemetery.

After a while we walked back to our home. As I walked in through the front gate I felt a pebble stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I picked it out. It was one of those stones from the cemetery. Not wanting to bring anything home from the cemetery I flicked it over the wall and out onto the street.

May the deceased rest in peace. My roots are so fuck'n deep in this small quaint town out in the middle of nowhere.