Grandmother
was an undertaker's bride
it couldn't be helped
the profession ran in
her husband's family
she was twenty-one
at the turn of the present century
her name was
adeline
just like the song
grandmother kept an intricate
account of
death by water
that was her job
sometimes she described
more than sixty floaters a summer
all of them slipped
over the falls
one way or another
she wrote
their remaining physical
characteristics
and their
tiny possessions
in a small brown book
it looks as if it couldn't be
helped
it looks as
if
somebody
had to write it
