They Don't Come to Visit Newborns

the two people I've known for the longest have always been Alec and Alice.

Alec works at the funeral home.

more specifically, is the tombstone sweeper at night,

where did she go?

he cleans up the vines that grow over the names,

some letters remain,

they don't come to visit newborns

so Alec pulls on the vines that have grown over the names

sweeps the remains,

where did she go?

and like an outlaw trying to scrub stains not meant for a child's face, obsessively polishes away at the tombstones until he can see his own bloody gaze

the dears have not lived to see a day.

You see, leaving the mausoleum sweeping to nighttime, he sings like a siren,

so nobody hears the echoes inside,

and humiliating cries of forest spring

yes, this is Alec,

the same Alec who fixes the cracks on black marble

Alec was not asked if his name always was Alec

or if he always, well, was.

for if you were to ask him that question,

one evening past the broken mausoleum,

you might cry as you face his gaze,

and realize what he will never say.