A part of me desperately wants to wander this whole cemetery until I find the tree that feels the best to me. Because working here feels nice but I think I need a space that is my own.
Honestly, I walked a long ways looking for Jewish last names. Because I was nervous about being alone here, in this giant place, even the day time. Especially in the afternoon. Some energy in the world would keep me safe if I sat on the grave of someone who might be my ancestor right? Or someone who had the same last name as my grandma. Or someone who maybe knew her before she immigrated. Or who arrived in Ellis island with her and came up state rather than cross- country.
It’s a silly thought, and I didn’t find one. The closest grave has the last name Wilkinson on it. Rebecca Wilkinson Blackswood. Sounds like the perfect young lady who accidentally ate the wrong bread, had visions and was burned at the stake for being a witch.