Flowers To the Hill: Part I
just a few miles into town
round where the speed limit changes &
the grass seems to grow higher on the banks
than on the football fields, the front yards &
the mountain paths leading up closer to the
sky,
the grave of a loved one lies nestle in the ground
at the cemetery whose quiet is both comfortable &
unnerving, bringing a special kind of mental
confusion,
every time the disbeliever visits to pay respects &
talk a while.
taking time from a week otherwise suited for
getting on with one’s life,
s/he makes the pilgrimage in silent,
buying a new bouquet of the most beautiful flowers
s/he can find & cleaning up as if to go on a first date---
instead & to the amazement of her/him,
after all this time, there are still tears that creep up on
the car ride over &
at this point, no mention of this ritual to anybody
has brought peace to this individual,
for it is only the visit &
the one-way conversation at the grave site
which seems to be the only way to sustain
anymore.
the groundskeeper watches the car slow on the cemetery road,
for he/she knows the routines of those who mourn
habitually, and even though he’s/she’s seen it a thousand times,
it can make him/her wonder, break her/his own heart,
while at the same time making him/her grateful for all the
people in their own live, whom he/she values so much.
getting out of the car,
the lone loved one walks often with their head hanging, while
at other times, they are standing straight looking up ahead,
as if anything had changed &
though the shrink continues to beat the drum of
“change comes from within,”
s/he’s convinced that shrink is bull*****&
is strongly considering the cessation of the sessions.
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