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10/25/11 - (1)
Harmonies
Just now, having left the pond and the park, We approach the source of my mother's presence. It's all one ungainly mound of dirt Obscuring my father's ivy-covered grave and her new bed. We'd anticipated finding a pristine place for our remembrance. Gradually, we grow accustomed to the rawness of the scene, Which is mitigated by what remains of the rose-and-orchid spray, Now gracing the brown earth embracing her, From which mourners plucked what they tossed onto her coffin.
Soon, we blend into B'nai Amoona's afternoon silence. The Missouri red-granite headstone is an ark, tabernacle, mantel, Sheltering Charlotte and Saul, for all the ages, Safeguarding us, as well, in this solemn, beautiful rendezvous, Between this infinite now and the moment we'll drive away, Leaving them to themselves, their souls, their eternity. We know they hear our voices speaking to them; Hearing them whispering to each other Is a matter of listening to the harmonies of falling leaves.
10/25/11 - (1)
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