The dead lie above ground
beneath a stone wall
under a row of skulls.

They have little wicker tents
for covering . . .
yellow umbrellas, bits of cloth,
a brass bowl for offerings.

On the slope below the graves,
a heap of remains:
bones, clothing,
more skulls and rotting wicker
from the old graves.

Our guide draws on a clove cigarette,
the smoke barely covering
the smell of decaying flesh.

We didn’t ask to come,
and he’s impatient for his money.

From Confrontation 121, Spring 2017.