I’m using your brick trowel today to prepare the soil for planting begonias along the base of your headstone
my hand on the handle you held
the steel blade cutting through the earth you lie under
just as you cut slices of mortar from the mound on the board
then spread the mud with a flourish on the top course of bricks ran a light furrow along the centre laid your philosophy down the row
walls always plumb stories always on the level corners as square as your pride your word as true measure
I’m using your brick trowel today
I don’t have your wrist action or your arm’s rhythmic swing
but I have your eye for straight
spacing the begonias evenly tapping them down with the handle’s hard end
firmly into the ready bed of loam
Rae Crossman
Selected for Poem in Your Pocket Day 2023 by the Canadian League of Poets