I liken to the lichen, like moss growing, here on all the stones, here where the roads are neither dirt nor stone but some mixture of conglomerates without any glom. It is as if they plant trees on the side of the road here rather than winding the roads around the trees. A few miles north up my road where I always turn left to leave, to pick-up a signal, to hit the bigger cities that make me feel trite to call them such splendor - cities - at this T in the road I snuck into the small lot of grass to the right, littered with random stones upright occasionally, gravestones from the 19th century. Dorcas was the oldest, at 105 years old, shy just under a month of 106, she was a wife, she was a woman, and I stood on the misshapen hillscape of their graveyard and questioned the tombstones that remained in their newish gleam of bright whites and greys and modern typefaces. Dorcas, I stood on you but I am sorry, and Jane and Rebecca and John and Harriet and Jack and Robert. Every woman was a wife, every man a Goodman. Mosses grew, they likened to the grass. I live not far from you, here, I thought. I have to pee; do not pee here. Do not drop my Children's Place thrift-store trousers here where I have trodden already, here in the presence of wives and husbands. Bound by words, yet in death they sleep apart for the true duration of their marriage: eternity. Did death truly do them 'part? How loyal is a century? Do not spread my legs to show them my life or shower them with my water, no matter how sterile, how excessive the vitamins. Instead I crouch and try half-heartedly to remove a sharp object from under my foot inside my shoe. I am pretending. I want to pee, relief. In a book of Chinese and Hindu body spiritualism, the water sign is most closely dominated by the bladder - or is it that being a water sign you more likely control the bladder? I desperately need to pee; the sun has set; I am at least a mile from my home. I still have my period and that would be a cruel reminder to these people who did not ask me to visit, to flaunt my heartbeat leaking on their dusty ruins. Cut the stones to weep sappy blood, I liken to the lichen like growing soft and warm around a rock, the drab of my green eyes finding a match among the change of scenes. Jade stone, a watery green, will absorb blood and turn black. Me, I was born under a water sign in the year of the water animal, the animal of the same name as the street across from this cemetery where I crouch containing my bladder but willingly not my unfruitful uterus. My green eyes. All the green up here is dying and turning red, lit matches burning quickly are the trees, and I cannot even use the wood-burning stove until my chimney is cleared of soot, or dead animals. A chipmunk follows me around the cemetery popping out of the ground and diving back in. I wonder if chipmunks would eat flesh if it was there for them, if Dorcas still exists at all. Soon these trees will all turn into used matchsticks, their structures all absorbing black against white parchment, a perfect charcoal drawing preserved until the thaw. Dorcas saw 105 matchstick landscapes burn every fall and white out in the winters. Let's start over. Dorcas, it's almost as if you mean of the orcas, as if orca whales were the deity goddess she was chosen to present in this world. Dorcas rather than Diana or Daphne. Orca whales are also known as killer whales. Dolphin family, very intelligent. The orca was not recorded as the Orcinus genus until 1860, by Leopold Joseph Franz Johann Fitzinger (Austrian), born 26 years after Dorcas (Dutch, whose maiden name means from the workers). The genus Orcinus was not recorded by Fitzinger until 84 years after the birth of Dorcas, who would grow up to be the wife of Hontice to whom she would be devoted until they both died in New York, although his tombstone was nowhere to be found near Dorcas or their 8 children and their 8 children-in-laws. Dorcas was born in 1776. Welcome to the United States of America, Dorcas. New York is really new so help us God and spread your mercy for 106 years. Originally Dutch, like Dorcas, New York State was brought into the Union as the 11th State, 11 years after the birth of Dorcas who lived to 106 minus six days, who was born in 1776 the year of our Independence, which I know because I was born on the Fourth of July and brought up in the new New York. In the nearest town to where Dorcas is buried, there is a Masonic temple on Main Street at building number 106. Rest in peace, Dorcas, we remember you after all these years.