Gravedigger by Katrina Gray


photography by Amadeus Long | Website | Etsy Shop | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter


Gravedigger

I buried your jaw in my backyard.
People think the trees are talking.
When they ask, I say nothing,
or, Just the wind.
I do not flinch or laugh nervously,
though nothing grows here,
and the neighborhood kids
think I’m a witch.
I’ve heard their stories:
under the full moon with a mason jar,
my hands turning soft the soil
like spades.
They’re not far off.
The moon was full
– yes –
and I used my hands,
but I carried your jaw in the hammock
of my nightgown;
tenderly;
like a lover who still loved your memory
because that is what I was –
what I will always be.
The children are too young to know
what it’s like to want to forgive,
but to not be able to.
The girls come back though,
one by one, when they’re older;
peering over my fence, holding this
or that; tenderly;
and suddenly they’re no longer afraid of me.
I am the one who shows them how to bury their dead.



Katrina Gray

Katrina Gray is a twenty-eight year-old Canadian who is fulfilling the prophecy, as foretold by her sixth grade teacher, to write. She’s never one to back down from a feminist argument, or a long binge of TV. She suffers from existential angst, always losing her pen lids, and thinking of the perfect line just before she falls asleep. She has been published once before on Words Dance, and twice on Persephone’s Daughters.