Gaudy Florals

The flowers had faded
with autumnal sun.
Sharp plastic leaves
poked out from rusted holders,
the holes gaping orbs for stems
never needing water,
at odds with the smooth cold marble
and inscriptions, hundreds of them
chasing my eyes.
I walked briskly by, as daylight
crept off and my crisp breaths whispered
like momentary pockets of steam
as I looked for ancestors,
in the wrong place.
The rummaging through closets
and drawers, suits and shirts
neatly folded. Heirlooms and
magpie pickings sifted and sorted,
shared out and hidden in deep dark
corners, some underground
in their rightful owners' pockets.