Baby

I went to a cemetery on Easter Sunday.

The place was not pedestrian friendly and had no sidewalks. It was crowded. Everyone but a single jogger, and me, arrived in a car.

I walked up a series of empty hills to my uncle. The graves were old, the dead never knowing the second world war. If anyone remembers them, they don’t visit. Some stones only have a single date, mid-century, marking vacant graves, waiting and abandoned, all unneeded, secret or forgotten. Beloved husband, wife, son, daughter, the monikers bleed together. Only “baby” stands out. And it is only used to describe the very old, seventy plus. No one describes a dead infant as “Baby”.