Remembering the day you leaned here
to carve your initials and year
in the quick drying cement.
Sitting silently on the steps
staring at the lines time had allowed
I can still make out the ’84.
Might be because I knew what year it was.
Infatuated with people’s names
began back then, for your bold
D. L. S. ’84
were my initials also.
Nobody ever guessed, ten
short years between that 8 and 4
you’d be gone, forever.
Leaving behind small reminders to few
that you were here, had dwell in this spot.
At times people have mistakenly
looked at those letters through the crack
and thought they were mine from childhood.
Too many times, I never try to explain
that they don’t stand for Donetta Lee Sifford.
Wrapped in those marks is the indication
I could never be the kind of person she was.
Proof that a wonderful aunt,
whom treated me better than her sister,
had lived and was a powerful human force.
Hard for someone to understand
the significance of Dreama Lee Sifford
leaving behind her engraved memory.