Jack and I discovered the tiny Cemetery years ago. It was hidden then, but now, Since the new road cuts through, It's in plain view. I discovered, also, that a tall Shag bark hickory nut tree Stands guard there over The plots, And I stopped by to see whether I could find any nuts. I pulled up the latch on the Swinging gate and walked into The sacred spot. I found a few nuts not yet Destroyed by the squirrels and Dropped them into my Plastic grocery bag. But before going to the car, I Took a walk among the Scattered monuments. There are soldiers buried there. A star posted by one tombstone Is marked "The War of 1812." On many of the ancient stones The captions are entirely gone, Eroded away. But I could still read a few: "Hannah Wife of A Williams1851 59 years" Was she the mother of Henry Williams who died in 1840 At "20 years 7 months 17 days"? I couldn't tell, but I know there Was weeping for William because of The Bible verse still legible Beneath his name: "He groaned in the spirit and was Troubled. Where have you Laid him? Jesus wept." * Two brothers were buried side By side, Both sons of James Gibson, One, 2 years old, The other, 1 year 1 month. It was late in the day as I thoughtfully Moved across the neatly trimmed Grass, serenaded by the birds And feeling the breeze blowing Through the leaves on the Grand stately trees. How long had they stood vigil There, shading the graves? I sat down on one of the low Stone slabs, Rested my head in my hands And quietly sobbed. I kept asking myself why I was crying. I didn't know a single person Buried there. Perhaps that's why I wept, Since no one else would, Since no one else cared about My fellow mourners from more Than a century past. I suspect they were mostly farm Families who brought their Loved ones in hand crafted coffins Loaded lovingly into wagons Pulled by sturdy horses over the Uneven terrain In heat, In snow, In rain, Lowering the tenderly prepared Bodies into graves dug by hand, Covering them with dirt there, Saying a prayer and Weeping too. There's a bond in death, a kinship that Spans the years that Dredges up tears. I "saw" them, Hannah's husband, the babies' Father, Henry's mother, The broken hearted ones, Moms and sons. I wept for all of us as the sun Was setting on the burying place. But mostly, Just for me. *John 11:33-35 |
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Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
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