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HIGHLAND HOME CEMETERY a AJ OXENFORD My parents walk among cemetery plots of people they once knew on a cloudy afternoon. I trail behind in flip flops, chilly in May. We stop at a gravestone marked Johnson, Dad’s full name on the left, Mom’s on the right— their birthdays listed underneath with spaces for death dates. Dad leans down, traces his first name with his finger, and says, “It’s nice to have this taken care of.” I look away, toward the flat fieldstones covered in bird droppings and brown grass clippings. There are more dead than alive in Ledyard, Iowa, and my parents seem ready to join. Mom takes my hand. “I’ll haunt you if you put fake flowers on my grave.” She laughs; I pull my hand from her grip. She walks to the next plot, deadheads the white geraniums in a terracotta pot by Grandma’s headstone. Hugging myself, I stand by my dad who will one day be buried beneath my feet.
AJ Oxenford lives in West Des Moines, Iowa, where she teaches at a local college. She also owns a business with her husband—they take down barns and make furniture. She loves the Iowa Hawkeyes, reading mystery novels, and taking cat naps (with her cats). 5