forest lawn

when my grandfather died

my mother slipped a book into his coffin

for him to take to heaven

and read there

she did not think of how

it would rot underground for eternity 

he is buried on a hill

overlooking a chapel

and a statue of two people hugging

when i was little, my cousins and i would run

up and down the green knolls

our mothers would yell at us to not step on the graves

mom always complains when we arrive

that no one has cut the grass

that we have paid so much money for this view

yet always, there is grass

over the small pots

where mom lays her flowers

hmmph, mom says, they should maintain this better

my grandfather was a raconteur, mom said—everyone loved him

he started banks, owned restaurants, danced at every party

he once bet his house at a poker game

threw the keys on the pile of chips

and won

in photos from Manila, he’s thin and smiling,

he’s always smoking

my mother smokes too, but she hides it

i think it reminds her of him in some way 

mom always cries 

in Ohio, where my dad’s from

they don’t lock the doors of their house

they hardly ever know where the key is

they like it here because people drive fast

people drive too slow in Ohio

my grandfather never made it to Ohio

but he lived in London when he was young