Sunday, January 24, 2010


Buried on a Wednesday
I stood at your graveside
As the rain drowned in itself
And the unkempt graveyard sang through the grass
Flowers wilted on headstones
Erosion and misuse
The gravedigger had fashioned a neat mound of soil
A single wooden stake with your name in black
It seemed a lifetime passed
As they lowered you into that grave
The minister said
‘Lettuce pray’
And I wanted to laugh
At the absurdity of it all
And the loss of you
A truant schoolboy flew past on his bicycle
His scabby knees and the shush of the wheels on the muddy path
Called of freedom
Birds on the wing
And I saw you cut loose of that coffin
Dancing above us in an azure blue dress
And like much of this life
The living becomes
Second rate


  1. This is beautiful. It reminds me of a graveyard I pass by every morning where a gipsy queen is buried. And every morning I am amazed at all the fresh flowers and new vases placed. I can see her dance above the grave also.

  2. Thank you Monique. She was a special lady - Violet. She lived to the age of 97 and passed away peacefully in her sleep. A Gipsy Queen? How fabulous? When did she die? xo