summer began with

the long drive to get there

grandma's front porch

from rice and old bottle caps

we made our own tambourines

approaching train

a boy with his hands

over his ears 

as if the noise were gunshots

on the Fourth of July

an old woman seated

on a low railing 

she faces the windows

with rooms as dark

as her black sweater

harvest time

a bale of hay tied

to the horse's back

by a boy who looks younger

than the horse

the future shaped by

the boy's pointed elbows,

the curve of the haystack,

and the bend 

in his grandmother's back

the steady gaze

of gravediggers

two with clenched hands

as though they were still

holding their shovels

Tribute to Vivian Maier