Limestone Names
I read aloud names etched
In limestone.
So many silent sentinels
Standing a century
As a stubborn footnote
To local history.
Names left unsaid for ten decades
Or longer
Unpronounced and forgotten.So, I speak their names
Into the air.
The syllables and phonics rise
Like prayer
Heard only by God.
I imagine their spirits
Smile in thanksHappy for so little.
Of course, I am imagining this.
Imagining they hear
That they care
That it was important to them
That the universe missed them
That it feels good to be remembered
Even to the dead.
Some leave flowers.
Some leave flags.Most just leave.
I leave the vibration of names.
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1 comments:
Beautiful. What an interesting point of view. After my dad died, I went to the funeral, but he was buried much later and none of my family went to his grave for a long time. After a couple years I pestered my mom into going. She'd never been herself. We wound up looking at all these markers with our last name, including a great uncle whose stone bore my exact moniker. Never even knew he existed.
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