flowers to the hill

just a few miles into town

round where the speed limit changes &

the grass seems to grow higher on the banks

than on the football fields, the front yards &

the mountain paths leading up closer to the

sky,

the grave of a loved one lies nestle in the ground

at the cemetery whose quiet is both comfortable &

unnerving, bringing a special kind of mental

confusion,

every time the disbeliever visits to pay respects &

talk a while.

 

taking time from a week otherwise suited for

getting on with one’s life,

s/he makes the pilgrimage in silent,

buying a new bouquet of the most beautiful flowers

s/he can find & cleaning up as if to go on a first date---

instead & to the amazement of her/him,

after all this time, there are still tears that creep up on

the car ride over &

at this point, no mention of this ritual to anybody

has brought peace to this individual,

for it is only the visit &

the one-way conversation at the grave site

which seems to be the only way to sustain

anymore.

 

the groundskeeper watches the car slow on the cemetery road,

for he/she knows the routines of those who mourn

habitually, and even though he’s/she’s seen it a thousand times,

it can make him/her wonder, break her/his own heart,

while at the same time making him/her grateful for all the

people in their own live, whom he/she values so much.

 

getting out of the car,

the lone loved one walks often with their head hanging, while

at other times, they are standing straight looking up ahead,

as if anything had changed &

though the shrink continues to beat the drum of

“change comes from within,”

s/he’s convinced that shrink is bullshit &

is strongly considering the cessation of the sessions.

 

making her/his way from the car to the top of the small hill,

the memories flood in &

s/he is always amazed at how much s/he can still remember,

while also noticing just how completely alone s/he is,

now that the only memory is the trip to the hill---

stopping right in front of the stone,

s/he kneels down a few feet above the lifeless corpse down below,

shut up in the box that he/she had to pick out after the accident,

one responsibility in a series of things that

a grieving loved one should not have to go through

at the time that others want them to.

 

the conversation is always the same---

it is as if the person below is listening,

as far as the loved one is concerned,

because at this point in their life,

no one else is, the way that they need,

to continue living---

with no hope of meeting again in a “hereafter,”

with no sense of “justice” that might of come

in knowing a “god above” was taking care of the one

below,

the walk to the hill ends as quickly as it began,

come rain or shine,

the dead has been informed of the mundane events

in a life that now is as good as dead as well,

now that the bond has been broken

against the will of the both of them.