A line of cars leave the funeral
led by one sprouting too many flowers.
Driving slowly, headlights on, ignoring the stoplight,
some passengers serious and somber, others laughing.
Hopefully, all for the same mournful reasons.
Like the environment where the grapes grow,
we each have soil, topography, and climate
in which we grew that imparts characteristics.
Like wine, we age, growing richer until
we don’t. A dusty bottle cellared forever.
We travel the banks of Antietam Creek
by car listening to horrific radio news,
not far from a day in 1862 –
the bloodiest in American military history – fallen
bodies, battles that end in a draw.
Doppelgängers – someone who looks just like you –
German “double-goer” once ghosts of the living.
This apparition of a living person means,
if seen as yourself, you’re about to die.
I met myself today. I’m still here.