Sue Wootton – Graveyard Poem (2012)
In a cemetery in sunlight with names
wept into granite, I lie on a grave
under a defoliating oak, crisp leaves
flittering. Concrete cold creeps
into my spine, aligns me with death. But
the sun’s warm yet. You sit
on the neighbour’s tomb, you wait,
and quietly we listen to the trees’ last-minute discussions.
Then we walk, past all the men in their sunken plots, dear morning
beards, and the yews twisting roots through their bones
all the graves on a slope so steep the lids
might slip off like toboggans should it snow
all the wives adored or endured, corseted or cosseted,
whose costal cartilages smile whitely, deep in the dirt
all the children with their terrifying ages engraved stark against bewilderment –
it’s right to be so afraid
of love.
We walk. We wend past the mossy graves on soft earth
which takes our footprints in and gives them back, a little bounce
and the green words chant on the tombstones
dearly beloved, deeply cherished,
and the angels dip their wingtips to our occasionally touching palms
and the leaves rustle underfoot: risk it, risk it.
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