Rusted fences cage
rolling hills and graves.
Elder oaks stretch
their gnarled limbs and wave.
Shadows dance midday like
it’s midnight,
and dappled light paints
marble slabs of white.
Bluejays screech and clang,
calls melodiously metallic,
like the steeple bells that rang
when they buried every person
beneath etched
dates and names.
There is more life in this cemetery
than on any city block-
dragonflies and dandelions,
gray moths, and creeping moss.
High above, a balloon flies,
flashing in the sky,
helium and a birthday wish
swiftly floating by.
Below sprawls row upon row
of citizens made to wait
until they clotted cold
to rest amongst
the green and glow
of this natural world.
pm poetry 