The last time I visited my parents’ graves
it was late Spring, dogwood bloomed.
The morning grass was green, dew kissed.
All was silent in the city of the dead
except for birdsongs and my quiet conversation
with those who had been gone so long.
Did they hear me? Was Mama still trying
to make everything and one around her perfect?
Was Daddy still trying to make her stop?
Only they know.

I leisurely wandered up and down
the neat rows of stones where beneath lie
those I had known and will never forget.
There is nothing quite like a day in the cemetery
to center the thoughts on life and its aftermath.
To probe into the truths of final equality.

Lily was the only child of her parents old age
Lily took voice lessons, dance lessons,
drama lessons. piano lessons.
Lily sang at everyone’s wedding and funeral.
She played the lead in the school plays,
the organ for the church, the prima ballerina
of every dance recital. I could still picture her
in that frothy pink tu tu and sequined top.
Lily had every advantage, beautiful clothes
beautiful voice and face, I envied her once.
Lily lies under a pink marble stone immortalized
by her picture in the center beneath the inscription
in Edwardian script “Forever Young, Forever Fair”
She died young, years ago when I was young too.
I wonder now if it matters, all those lessons.
Is Lily entertaining The Lord, in a sequined costume
with her jazz dance routine? Only Lily knows

Eddie was the oldest of two brothers
he was only 22 when his plane went down.
The Air Force sent home some medals,
and little pieces of a body.
His mother went into permanent seclusion
his father into permanent alcoholism,
his brother into perpetual trying to be like Eddie
and never quite succeeding.
The parents lie beside Eddie now
She, a shell of a woman, who hid
behind the walls of her house finding
her comfort in the dogs and cats she loved,
finding none in the husband who abused her.
He, a wasted, wicked man who hated the world
and everyone in it for taking his son.
Eddie died fighting the enemy of his country,
his parents died fighting each other.
Have they all found peace at long last? Only they know.

Mrs. Morton was a formidable 200 pound obstacle
to the church doors and the kingdom of heaven
If she thought you shouldn’t be in either
you were ostracized and exposed.
She ran a tight ship and even the pastor
often took orders from General Morton.
She was quick to judge, quick to condemn
and quick to execute her sentence on all
she thought beneath her standards, unless,
of course they were members of her family.
She rests beneath an ostentatious marble Angel
with wings outspread to welcome her.
Is she giving orders now to the angels, St Peter,
Christ himself?? Only she knows.

Harold was gay, in the closet but everyone knew
His voice was too soft his ways much too gentle
in comparison to the hardened farmers around.
Men came and went in and out of his life for he
never found the one, “Friend” he could love forever.
Harold never did anything bad to another soul
He was often ostracized, secretly laughed at
while he simply lived out his solitary life day by day.
He was the first to aid in good causes, dependable
that’s what Harold was, dependable and compassionate.
Maybe the lack of compassion toward him served
to endue him with a true caring for others suffering.
He died alone with a heart attack in his sleep.
Some didn’t want him buried in the church cemetery
though they had nothing negative to say except “Gay”
Many loved Harold and saw him as different but good.
On his gravestone is carved, “A Friend To All.”

Connie lived a very long life, she had a husband
and three children, the youngest was fathered
by a secret lover who did not remain secret.
Her husband left her and she raised those children
all by herself. She worked hard and those children
always had what they needed. Rumors followed her
all the years of her life. Whispers behind her back
secret distain and noses lifted high in order
to better look down on Connie the adulteress.
Many thought it was not a bad thing that her husband
had left, only a bad thing that she had cheated.
She died at a ripe old age, surrounded by
her children and grandchildren who adored her.
Even beyond the grave infamy and whispers live on
but perhaps where she is now, Connie is appreciated
for what good she did and not hated for the failures.

Death is the great equalizer, beyond its gates
we take no possessions, no positions
In its unknown realm are we separated into
gender, races, nationalities, religions, politics????
Do we carry all those differences and conflicts
with us into that good night?
All is quiet in the city of the dead.
No one is screaming, shaking a fist at anyone else,
dropping bombs or threatening destruction;
even if its justified. All is quiet and equal.