Standing by the stone

The grave is waiting there but doesn’t care as such.
I now and then wipe nature droppings from the stone.
The grave would be okay to be there left alone,
as graves don’t mind about who’s grieving all that much.

I come here for the blackbird’s song each time I go.
He sings his graveyard tune that vibrates through the air
with thoughts and memories emerging everywhere.
It is a simple tune that all the mourners know.

In what he sings, I hear my father’s laugh, his scorn
and in the melody my mother’s unsaid words
now spoken clearly in the language of the birds
and sounds I heard from times I wasn’t born.

 

a repost from April

 

Comments on: "Standing by the stone" (6)

  1. With such depth and great feeling instilled…I can hear these songs of remembrance, which in time will call us all home…

  2. Ah.. now… this really works!

  3. Very amazing and beautifully written! I loved your poem Ina!

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