It's Not Nice to Rake the Dead

The sun sinks lower in the afternoon now, somehow brighter and closer to me, though I know that is not possible. And I stand in my yard, thinking that I have seen this all before. My rake is my pen and I write on the memories I keep. Another fall day. Another leaf pile. Another parent raking and piling just to see his work scattered all around the yard.

The children play hide & seek. I love the magic of the game. Wherever two or more are gathered, the game is renewed when neighbor kids and cousins come to play. They run through my yard on this bright afternoon, too warm for November. They tiptoe through grass in bare feet, toes amazed to be free. They hide in the leaf piles I create. I am careful about where I rake.

The stew cooks on the stove inside. Hearty potatoes and carrots that I peeled myself. The Italian bread lies waiting for butter and grubby outside hands to devour it. My knife is my pen and I serve these memories to my children at dinner.

The leaves are dead. As is my father. So much of what I knew and believed has also died. My rake churns on and scours the grass, the crinkling sound loud in my ears. Reminds me of a joke my sister told. “Are you raking leaves that have died? It’s not nice to rake the dead.” But I must. And I do. On this too warm fall day with the sun hazy and peeking through the trees, I haul these leaves to the curb. I pile the tarp high with crumpled leaves and worn out dreams. I try to pile on all the dead things, hide them in the leaves with broken promises and twigs and missing moments that I thought I knew. The tarp is heavy as I gather the corners, careful not to spill the funeral of my thoughts on my whitewashed lawn. My work goes on. And so do I.

The children run giggling through the yard. And I remember. The stew on the stove in the kitchen. The crinkling of leaves in huge piles. The fun of hide & seek and jumping in piles of leaves. And I wonder if she is buried in the tarp below the leaves: that little girl who dreamed like a queen so many years ago. And suddenly, I am not sure if I am the girl or the parent or the dream. Or maybe I am just a skittish leaf that is tumbling from the tarp today.