A grave yard
I visited your grave today
I probably won’t come again
I couldn’t find you there
neither was I, really.
Just your name and rank.
Only neat rows of the fallen,
an organised battle field
library quiet,
polished and manicured.
Flowers and jars
walking frames and
slowly driven cars.
I tried talking to you
but it didn’t feel real.
I tried saying some of the things
I’ve meant to say
I tried to imagine your face
your listening eyes,
but the sound of the lawn mower
and an airplane overhead
distracted me and, I thought,
you probably smiled absently
and went back to your crossword.
I lost my train of thought
and couldn’t leave the world
in which you’re dead, and
not listening anyway,
so I stayed there, in the sun.
I did, though, see a reflection
on your new, polished marble grave marker,
which made me imagine some
strands of me, buried with you all these years
into the ground, holding me there, in your past
I’ve taken them back, I think they’re why I came
it was a lovely day, and a useful visit
but
you aren’t really there
and I probably won’t come again
Liked or faved by...
