Poetry
Cemeteries #1
By Mark Flotow
Compact towns across the landscape Without through roads, infrastructure, Only the sparest superstructure; Open-gated communities Where visitors are expected Yet are never anticipated. All welcomed during daylight hours, Yet often the fox and horned owl Seek there the serenity they crave. Occasional fresh-cut flowers, Miniature flags appear next To shaped stones and solemn-shared green space. Full names and scant demographics Etched in mute granites and marbles, Simple summations of complex lives In a garden of index cards: Filed, never out of order; A deck expanding, never shrinking; With no births or out-migration, No town mayor, just citizens Returning to the clay of Adam. Originally published in Epitaphs Magazine #11, March 2012. |
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