Celebration
Here I am, a young girl in the cemetery,
holding the hand of my mother in a parade,
I wore a new white dress
and my new shoes were pinching my toes.
All around the cemetery we followed the priest
as he prayed for the dead.
It was Whitsuntide,
and no tears for the decayed were to be
but a celebration was beginning . . .
We brought flowers for the graves
and a choir sang holy songs.
I felt disconnected and was thinking other thoughts,
as it was an awful, dreadful place
with moss draped tombs and weeping angel statues.
Grandma was at home preparing a Whit-Sunday meal
and there would be dancing and singing for days.
This confused me and I began to ask questions,
I, a young girl.
Like why were tombs engraved, and mother read
the words, sad words, unable to speak the words . . .
It was Spring and we carried flowers . . .
to be divided and laid on the graves to fade tomorrow
but today, it was so festive and beautiful in the cemetery,
with the people smiling and talking joyfully
celebrating Whitsun.
_______________________
May 20, 2017
Verse/Celebration
Copyright Protected, ID 902984
Brian Strand
25 lines
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