she buried ambition in the dirt
in the cemetery
not by the lilac bushes
but with the bodies,
a rotting corpus of potential and desire
reeking of risk and rejection

she asked me not to visit the cemetery
which is how I knew what was buried there
but I went anyway
and left tulips already cut
without a vase or water,
just tulips lying upon the dirt
the most appropriate tombstone

she passed up promotions
said “no” to love
never rode in an airplane or a train or a sailboat
didn’t have a library card
and didn’t keep a diary
she was never in the room when someone was born
or someone died
until it was time for her
to be buried in the cemetery
in the dirt;
it was winter, and no one took flowers
or paid for the tombstone:

a neon colored sign that will eventually fade,

eternity now