—Buena Vista Park, San Francisco



There’s no room for the dead


in this small city, nearly an island,

where we trade corpses for houses


digging up graves

and exhuming the bones.


You can die in San Francisco,

but you can’t keep the real estate.


On a path toward the hospital

gutters laid from headstones


names split from dates.

I visit to read fragments


cursive of another century

spelling out a memory:


Francesloving Mother.

Many names I’ll never find.


They were turned to face the earth.


©  Keith Ekiss