At first it felt eerie
to celebrate the life
of a friend whose photo
was on a heavy
slab of brownstone
from a nearby quarry.
Two other slabs
were engraved with
dinosaur paw prints.
The place looked like
a vandalized graveyard
instead of a park.
By hand we wrote
our favorite memories
on strips of paper
which were burned
together in one urn,
not read out loud.
It felt good to believe
the drum circle
of our hearts
helped a friend’s spirit
rise like a melody
from a mastered flute.
Kathy Raymond is a reemerging poet from Bristol, Connecticut, who holds a BA degree in English from Central Connecticut State. Her poems appeared in small magazines. She currently enjoys sharing her poetry at open mics. Now a retiree, she takes remote gigs in website design and editorial work.
