Snow has melted and left my home,
but here farther north it still fell
last night on this cemetery I visited
though I know no one buried here,
at least I don’t think I know
anyone here beneath the cold, fresh white.
A blanket is the cliche. Wrap. Shroud.
Some flat gravestones are covered, now anonymous.
Some old ones still standing are illegible.
Also anonymous. I feel I should pray
for these people but if they had
souls wouldn’t they have gone elsewhere?
I think I’m praying for my family
and friends gone and buried elsewhere and
for myself imagining others walking above me
dead or me dead above those walking
below through a cemetery once live green,
covered with snow and I am hoping –
not praying – that they will be praying
for me, for my soul, here, elsewhere.
Writing the Day 