Lie, they lay in spotted plots, intricately spaced,
where quarried stones bear the epigraphs of
the lives they confess. Stretching miles past flower
and tree, enclosed within the white picket wood of the
departed American dream - that which existed only
while asleep, when waking life was a misconstrued blur.
And fancy, they're treated courageously while blocked
and choreographed into exquisite oak, casually intended to
nurture the soil - that same soil which in turn only
welcomes more of their discarded kin, used for
nothing more than coins on eyes, formaldehyde.
Eight by six they stay, perfectly placed, as loved ones' tears
sodden the earth where weedy clover sprouts. These green
unwanted blossoms - the last remnant of a body misplaced, on
an occupied slat of decay; a desolate companion for earth's great
pockmarked face, all arranged in orderly fashion.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
I have not been to a cemetery in a long while. How strangely true this is...Possibly mathematicians divised the whole idea of a cemetery? This is a very original way of putting a cemetery in perspective.
i agree with fofe, beautiful and strange, why not just bury bodies and let them go back into the earth more quickly, well i guess that's the ageold tradition of fancy tombs like king tut and all....i'm not into it. it's scary and weird and unnatural. i would like to be strung up like christmas lights, but only the lights of my soul.
Like I always say, you have a way with the written word, what a picture this brings to mind, and very thought provoking our little ceremonies of life and death, what we need to hold onto...
Post a Comment