becoming, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, death, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, life, love, old maps, postmark, reason, restless, resurrection, spirit, strength, value, wandering
by some forsaken
the fondest memories
a slight of hand
a slower fate than most
reserved for us the same
reminders of another
love I knew –
a silent praise
along the path
for someone no one knows
hands are folded
quilts are wearing through
who of me
will there be
when I am gone –
will one return
to speak my name
. . .
I moved back to Tennessee in 1991. Three days after the
first on the porch, I noticed something along the back fence line – an edge
amid the briar. It was a portion of cemetery marker, apparently from
the time when many civil war battles were fought nearby.
There is no name…only dates. When days are hot, it is a place of retreat,
and many poems have found word there. Yesterday morning, it seemed
the only place to be – held by one without a name, as witness to my tears.
(I shall give).
Image: 1998 somewhere between here and the place where I was born. Souls
sleep where solace grows deepest. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls….”
. . .