Backyard Ritual

It was a backyard ritual.

One he had experienced before.

One he paid closer attention to than the rest.

Several small birds

dotted the clothesline.

He shooed them away

with a determined wave

and humbly sat

on his mother’s grave.

It was a backyard ritual.

One he had taken for granted,

for once too long.

He had paid penance

with rice flour and corn

on lazy Sunday afternoons

when he played without help.

Now he sat “Indian Style”

on the patchy lawn

and listened very closely

for the heartbeat underground

for he knew it was there, somewhere.

So he listened carefully

during a backyard ritual.

Dorian LaGuardia
May 1988