the end of summer,
barbecues,
Jerry Lewis Telethon,
and the start of the school year
It doesn't mean those things any more.
On this the fifth anniversary of your death,
old memories of Labor Day
have receded.
I now think of you,
my little girl who would have turned thirty this month.
This Labor Day weekend
I'll visit your grave
and water the flowers
trying to nurse them alive a few more weeks
before the first fall frosts
and try to remember
your face
and what it might look like today.
Try to remember.
Try.
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