On cleaning the graves

Why do they come?

Year, after year, after year,
they come.

These are graves, of people,
in life, they knew not, of ...

The deaths coming, years,
before their birth

They carry no memories, 
of sickness, weddings, or funerals.

No memories of the babies.

They mourn then not, from memories, of youth.

Like salmon, returning to spawn,
they return yearly, to clean the graves

To reward the children, they will return,
year, after year, after year, 
to Donnetta Hot Springs, to take a swim.

Donnetta was once owned by the family,
it is where they scalded pigs,
after the yearly slaughter.

They bring their memories,
of their grandmothers and grandfathers,
aunts, uncles, and cousins,

And their babies.

Year, after year, after year,
I bring my memories,
Of swimming, and picnics,
and meals being prepared,
and running with cousins,
and games of tackle football. 

I go there to recover lost memories,
it is one of the rare places,
on Earth, I felt nurtured, by Momma.

So year, after year, after year,
I shall return, to relive those memories
as I return home, to create new memories,
for my, babies.