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Last Writes: A Requiem for Mamma
i.
this is the first morning iāve run
since we gave her to the ground
this is the first dirt iāve sprinkled
since i walked out of the church
after finding quiet in my own season of tears
i follow the creek around the road
to a cemetery
i know the peace iām seeking
is somewhere among the granite
i know i will hajj here every morning at sunrise
to look for lessons
chiseled in stone
clyde and eliza
john and raye
russell and thelma
robert and pearl
rows and rows of tutors
hugging the edge of the cobblestone path
and each other
i have traveled
to these quiet pennsylvania hills
to get lost, to be invisible
to hide in a forest of poets
i donāt tell them
iām here to bury a loved one
i donāt tell them
iām here to say goodbye to my mother
| ii. | |
| a banner announcing | |
| 50% off plots purchased now | an empty vase |
| styrofoam crosses hidden | |
| by crooked flags | a fallen concrete bench |
| every shade and texture of gray | |
| cast in | rows and rows of granite |
| one day i will return here | |
| and see nothing but | flowers |
iii.
these stones, my fatherās stoic cousins,
help me recall the gentle hand
he placed on my shoulder
at her homegoing
there were no words
i thought he said nothing
they say i wasnāt listening
iv.
waterās exact path and speed
are barely discernable
until it encounters a rock
only then does it write its course
choose a new path
invite this stubborn obstacleās roughness
into a seductive duel
that makes all rocks smaller over time
v.
i put on a white cotton tee
and exit the building
the brisk morning air reminds me
to draw deep clean breaths
and begin again
when the lavender wildflowers
dance in the weeds at the edge of the road
i shorten my stride, slow to a walk and
pick up three black rocks
this will be my fourth morning
at hillview cemetery
i left my family
and a fresh grave back in kentucky
on the other side of these appalachian hills
maybe i come here out of guilt, maybe i come here
to bury something in me, to dig myself out of a hole
maybe this is as close to home as i can get
by now my mountain mornings
have fallen into a pattern
at dawn, i follow one road across two bridges
the same creek
and deposit gifts of stone into still water
in my mind, i am laying the foundation
for an underwater
pyramid
i circle each field of monuments
first at a reverential pace
then briskly like a parade march
hannah and hiram hawk, first row, second field
willard shakespeare, back row, third field
the smooth black kemp family obelisk
somewhere in the middle
the tiny apple-shaped headstones
of the three smith children
given back to earth
before breathing even five months
the youngest only nine days
i circle these stones
i gather and gift these rocks
i cross these bridges...
