Struck by the same sense of this is what we do, no matter where we are
and the same sense of connection to the names on the stones:
Strangers, and yet
the names are the same
Applebaum, Bloch, Cohen,
Danzig, Epstein, Feinberg,
Goldstein, Greenberg, Glass -
An Alphabet of familiarity.
In Cape Town the graves are filled with sand.
It thumps softly on the plain pine box
not like the painful thunks of our North American soil,
often frozen or filled with stones.
This feels so much gentler.
I am thinking of the way our people have been described -
scattered to the four corners of the earth -
this place, more than any other, feels like proof;
really makes me understand the truth of that description.
We are scattered and we took our our names with us
and you can find us in all corners of the world
living vibrantly at best
but carrying on these final rituals either way
Our names signifying our stories
Buried each of us alone, but also
very much together.