Cemetery Days

December 7, 2008
By Brittney Gibney, Hondo, TX

I couldn’t forget you
Even if I wanted to
But why, oh why
Would I even dare to try
Ingrained in my brain
Your face will always stay
But sadly, in these passing years
Your face has faded against all my fears
My eyes well up and my cheeks grow wet
A sob racks though my tight chest

I visit you when I can
Bringing flowers to lie upon the land
I touch that cold hard granite
And sink down into the grass to sit
My fingers trace your names and dates
I pray you’ve found those pearly gates
My forehead rests now upon the stone
And my tears roll down, into the ground, to reach your bones
I sigh squeezing my eyes closed, shut tight
And stay like that as day fades to night

The wind whistles through the bare, cemetery trees
The melancholy melody weaves
The air grows bitter
The first signs of this fourth lonely winter
Another Christmas, another forced smile
Good tidings and such, now not worth the while

The moon has now replaced the sun
And as so many before have said, the day is done
I raise myself up off the ground
And as I walk away, I blow you a kiss without a sound

The author's comments:
This is about my Tuesday afternoons, when I go to the cemetery to visit my mother, little brother, and older sister. It’s pretty much a documentation of what happens on those Tuesdays. How I endlessly trace their names and talk to them. I’ll do homework there. Some people think I'm weird but the cemetery is one of the only places I can concentrate. No people noise, no domestic noise, just calm. But the bitterness of winter and the holiday season gets to me. It’s just sad.

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