Paul David Walker | + Follow Poet |
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Grave Digger

As the gun’s first round blasts out
Echoed by a mother’s mournful cry,
I stand by waiting to cap the grave
This last summer of ‘69 when the constant
Funerals made me feel older than my years.

I remember earlier being at the bottom 
Of that grave carving the corners square 
Where sound is muted and still
And the earth smells cool and fresh.

Enjoying a moment of silence
Below the ground looking up
From the darkness to blue sky,
Before the black funeral sends 
Its dead down to this place 
I prepared for many others.

Waiting out of sight with dirt
On my hands in case of trouble,
A line of black cars weave
Through the cemetery lanes,
While the honor guard waits
So young and sharp carrying guns,
Flags and a brass horn whose sound
Mixed with tears will carry the departed
Young soul away from us to heaven.

The family and friends gather
Moving like ghosts in the broken 
Way I have seen so many times,
As the prayers of consolation begin,
I hear sorrowful whimpering
As they try to comfort each other.

Now the second round,
Echoed by a mother’s mournful cry,
But louder with the sound of why
Unspoken that I will never forget.

Too soon the final round cracks out
As the brass horn plays Taps,
General sobbing rises and falls.
The soft notes signal the ending
That I still carry in dreams and waking 
Moments as sudden sobbing captures
Me unexpectedly breaking my heart again.

Paul David Walker
Memorial Day, 2012

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