On roads to nowhere/everywhere
white crosses dot the countryside seeking
a final resting place abandoned now to
wait for plastic flowers to be placed as if
somehow this will bring closure to loved ones
who mourn their passing from interstate to ether state
from sadness to glory from son daughter mother father
grandfather orphan to eternal rest.
White crosses maybe one maybe five
returning to death no longer alive.
one brief instant horror to blessed rest
on a cold siding/a concrete ribbon/
a drainage ditch/a nowhere road.
Are they resting there or are they crying
to let them be with others in this clay
state that means nothing.
now the remains of yesterday clinging to memories faded as
the plastic flowers/teddy bears/grayed out names that
mean nothing to but a simple few who will
not let them rest.
Oh my soul mourns to let them free
let Jeanette go free Bill S. on that lonely road
let B.R. road worker lay his tools and vest and
hard hat down Fred S. is a memory nothing more
nothing less/let them rest … we long to be at rest
not be looked upon by passersby who
wonder why our crosses are in the middle of
Nowhere/we are nowhere to be found.
We cry for justice of the past/let us sleep where
we are not where the metal and pain and stench and broken
glass found us …