Violet
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
Forgotten
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
Escape
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
Somehow
Second rate
And
Inconsequential.
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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.
ReplyDeleteThank 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
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