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