Graveyard woman – what sort of state is she in?
I wonder, who made the dress she was wearing
as I stand here drinking coffee, staring
at her tombstone: Charlotte Farrell Vail. No ring,
apparently. Says she passed in ’23.
Born in ’02, now Woodhill Cemetery
is where she sleeps. Perhaps she can see my sweet
grandparents down the hill, under the plane trees.
John and Barb Holweger – they’ve been gone now
for 23 years. If the good fates allow
I will see them again. They’ll raise their eyebrows
and ask me how long it has been. Anyhow,
back across the Ilissus, a tiny stream
flowing through the graveyard, I stand here beneath
a Greek or Roman-styled mausoleum
and hear the following words whispered to me:
“I am going to take a walk outside the
wall, for I have been sitting with you the whole
morning. It is much more refreshing to walk
in the air than be shut up in a cloister.”
For reasons only those in the ether know
my mind’s awash with Dialogues of Plato
set to music. Blues, in the key of G. Oh!
It’s a Bob Dylan classic, the one that goes…