Queen of the Ridge

This is a small piece I wrote for Open Mic Night at my Writing Camp. Dedicated to my late great-grandmother, Ada. Love you, Mamaw!

     A mahogany coffin sits in the center of a spacious, well lit room. There's a woman laid out in the coffin, she is dressed in her best Sunday linen suit. Her hair is snow white, her skin is pale and wrinkled, and her face was one that had watched a century pass. The casket lid is lowered, sealing her away forever.
     Dry, raspy voices fill the air. Elderly men and women sing an old gospel song, "I thought number one would surely be me. . ." Higher, younger voices join in the song, "I thought I could be what I wanted to be. . ." Children walk solemnly with their living ancestors. Finally the young and middle-aged men and woman add their voices to the mulch-generational song, "I thought I could make it on life's sinking sand. But I can't even walk without You holding my hand. . ."
     The large group of family members walk hand-in-hand across an open field. The grass is bright green, wildflowers are blooming in vivid colors all around, bugs flit among the tall grass that's stirred by the cool mid-summer breeze and from the hill top field, pine trees a hundred yards away could be seen by the mourners, but they take no notice. The elderly walk tall and proud like the mountains themselves. The children are sober during the walk and the song, they stare straight ahead like miniature soldiers. The second and third generation adults walk beside their elder and younger relatives, supporting them like the great pines in the distance.
     Ahead of the family, eight men carry the mahogany casket between them. The pallbearers gently lower the coffin next the to grave that's already prepared. The family gathers around the coffin and begin to sing again, this time a song about saying goodbye but for long. The family say goodbye to a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and a dear friend. But most of all she was their matriarch, their queen.
     Flower petals are thrown as the queen in lowered into the ground and afterwards, the family leave to celebrate the life of their lost leader.
     Food is eaten at her old house and then they take turns telling stories of their lost matriarch. Not all the stories are sad, but all of them are lessons taught by their departed loved one. The night isn't entirely about sadness, it's more about remembering. Remembering her laugh, her smile, and the way she spoke. The eldest son of the queen stands and silence falls over the gathered family members. He lifts his cup and stares at the moon that climbed into the sky hours ago, "To the queen."  The sentiment is repeated by the crowd. The little house full of family rests high on the ridge where the queen used to watch over her family and kingdom.