Morning at the Cemetery

Reclining in my Ford Escape

In the dark

On the edge of St. Patrick’s Cemetery

Drinking a paper cup full of

Gas station coffee,

Waiting for light to seep in

Over the horizon,

Over frosted marble

Centuries old, worn down and broken

 

Ma used to say this was the

Best part of the day

To mop floors and vacuum curtains and

Make a cup of coffee before

Ray woke up and family and kin started

Calling and dropping by

 

Dried, fragile leaves swirl over

Julia Ann Kinsella, beloved wife of Patrick deceased in August of 1878

Her stone was broken at the base and

Sloppily repaired

Some years ago

On the top, moss grows

 

Jesus hangs on a cross on the stone’s front.

Jesus wept for Lazarus

Did he weep for Julia Kinsella

Did he weep for Ma

Does he weep for any of us

 

The crunch of dried leaves can be heard

Over the engine as I

Pull around and aim the car towards home

Where I can resurrect my cold coffee

In the microwave before anyone else wakes up

 

 

 


Author Notes

Still playing with poetry. I'm used to editing and re-editing, but I just decided to run with this one. Be kid.

11 Comments for “Morning at the Cemetery”

Anisa Claire

says:

Another great write, Dave! You should do more poetry, for sure. You capture the moment and in such a small space with each line… Seriously, great job with this one.

Anisa

Raymond Tobaygo

says:

Good afternoon, Dave

Moving post, especially the part where you asked did God weep for them? Very stark images, almost a sense regret for those that lie within the cemetery. Enjoyed!

Side note: I believe vending machine coffee is worse than gas station coffee.

Take care and stay safe,

Ray

RissRyker518

says:

i absolutely loved this, Dave. I love when a writer can put a picture in my mind of a place like this old cemetery. My favorite line is in the first paragraph: “Waiting for light to seep in Over the horizon, Over frosted marble Centuries old, worn down and broken”..Excellent piece!

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