My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

The groundskeepers were working on the far side of Cedar Ridge.

I waited near a large marble headstone until the pale sun touched the dark tree line.

The wind picked up, blowing cold rain sideways across the open field.

The drops stung my cheeks as I walked back to the edge of my grandmother’s grave.

The earth around the rectangular opening was slick and loose.

I knelt on the freezing ground and leaned over the steep edge.

The blue passbook was lying in the mud right beside the porcelain angel.