sematary

A cemetery 

So, quiet here, yellowing grass
fallen leaf turning dark 
like the hands of a day laborer
Dignified rusty teared crosses
Names on headstones, a whisper 
of one who died in 1852
Did he die from a war wound?
A cat keeps an eye out for mice
like its ancestors did before 
the oak trees grew tall.
There is talk of removing
headstones and crosses, making
a garden with benched and
bright flowers, and no one will
know what is down in the soil
A French architect thinks it is
a precise place for posh villas 
As it is, no one asks the cats
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace