AMIDST THE LOCALS - Poem

 

AMIDST THE LOCALS 
 
(copyright 2021, by Dave Kiffer)
 
I know Mom liked the grass,
Something we did not have
At home because the glaciers
And the rain stripped
Everything worthwhile away.
 
So, we would head not for parks
But for the places that were quiet
And serene, and green, even
On the hottest days of summer,
When the pavement melted dreams.
 
There was comfort in the headstones.
The names, the dates, the words
Heartfelt but inadequate,
Unable to sum up any breathing part
Of people that we did not know.
 
It was like reading a newspaper
From a city where you do not live.
You feel the import of the times
But none of the immediacy of lives
Lived in your own ebbing shadow.
 
So now when I visit somewhere new
I find myself wandering the sections,
Wondering how each stone arrived.
Was it early? Was it late? Or was it
Just in time, to mark the passing.

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