A Trip to the New Jersey Graveyard Where My Great-Grandfather Rests

By Hopeless Hopeful


We had decorated the recollection
of the man which I have none of
and gave taciturn deference
to the unfamiliar face.
We did what we came to do.

Now I sit beneath the refuge
of this looming willow tree
while its elegant branches and leaves
rhythmically sway with the beat of the breeze.
As it does so, I feel the moist blades of grass
between my fingers
and examine the ambiance.

No doubt, the most beautiful fusion
of life and death
lay widely spread before me.
Off in the distance, the elder family members
bounce from one spot to another,
seeking companions, comrades, and colleagues
from photo-album memories
while a light rain begins.

I see a flowered vase knocked over
by a sudden gust of wind,
and while I restore its position,
I read the name of the new stranger.
I begin to wonder who she was.
I wonder what she was like.
I wonder what she did with her life.
I wonder these sort of thoughts
as the drizzle turns into a downpour,
but I don't move a muscle.
I stay with my considerations
and continue to wonder
as I am called away.