I live in a town with 24 graveyards
tens of thousands of people have died here
since it was founded in 1853
but only a few were buried in marked graves
disparate lives separate deaths
the rich attached to the space they earned
the poor devoted to another realm
These quiet grounds
where development is reserved
for shrub jays and bluebells
recalls the real meaning of sacred
Death as continuance
One such place lies near my house
the old Mason Lodge on a hillside
where wild things and last thoughts flourish
“Her Smile Was My Sunshine”
reads one stone from 1905
something my stern and always working dad
might have said of my mom
Some deaths seem unfair
even among the privileged
“Here Lies Baby Jessica
Interred With Our hearts”
a child born then taken back
as if God changed her mind
to confuse overbelievers
A walker on the way to a friend’s house
can quickly become sad here
but today I came across
an epitaph that sent me on my way with a grin
“I Had Elsewhere To Go” it said matter of factly
no regrets no attachment
just another death along the path
