Funeral blues

Alive I came,
Impatient, hurried,
to bear witness
to a burial.

A man I didn’t
know well,
in a new cemetery,
that sits modestly,
among old trees,
by the north bound
railway track.

I walked the paths
between the shining
stones,
names intoned
in matt and
gloss
death and loss,
etched deep to keep
the dead alive
in memory at least.

I meet there
children, faces
once familiar,
grown old.
Dead some years.
these men I kicked
a football with,
lay now in changed
estate,

So many gone
away, stretched
and decayed
beneath the clay,
Passed without
a nod to me,
connection severed,
never to be restored

I read inscriptions
as if they were
accusing letters,
every stroke evoked
a face, a day,
a place.
And grief stole
upon me like a
cold hand
on an uncaring
shoulder

And voices say,
remember me,
this too is your
twisted road.
This line of narrow
avenues,
of lavender
and matted rose,
this haven of last
repose.

The hearse arrived,
I walked to greet
the latest resident
and think ill of my
haste.
I vow to waste some
more hours here
among the dead
before I waste them
all on lesser things.

-Dave Kavanagh

2 thoughts on “Funeral blues

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s