A Wig

The Summer at her house
Eating food I didn't like
yet still swallowing every bite
So she wouldn't think me rude
Hot days spent playing in her back yard
And burial by sea
for my cousin's goldfish

Several years later
She stood beside me
on that special and sacred day
complaining about how they
misspelled her name in the program

Her gift to me
an elaborate gold cross
with glistening stones
I wore for months after her death
afraid to take it off
as if I would lose the last
remaining part of her

The last time I saw her
eating at a little restaurant
her face so pale and grey and
her wig looked so awkward
She'd never had bangs before