You probably breathed a sigh of relief last week when you didn’t have to endure poetry class, but here we go again. Take some time this month to wander in a cemetery or go through an old scrapbook and honor those who came before.
Memorial Day
I wander, and wonder,
in the home town cemetery;
searching for clues
to family mysteries.
None given. Just the echo
Of long-gone voices, laughter,
and the tunes my daddy hummed
while teaching me to dance.
Names I know as well as my own
on these tilted, weather worn stones.
Schoolmates, shopkeepers
who counted back my change,
when granny sent me to the store,
and friends she called on,
binging me along to carry a pie,
or cookies, for condolence.
Four generations of family names,
ours, and lifelong neighbors.
The foundation of my life is here
on this lonely hillside;
a network of names and faces
that participated in the weaving
of a tapestry now fading,
but still able to warm me.
c Lyn Messersmith 2019