worrying the grave

[photo source]

:::

(Rodney M.  Davis & all who protect)

:::

remember

when we were kids

& our fast bodies were stopped

by a sudden chill?

mama used to say

it meant some body (or thing)

was worrying our grave;

how we’d look across the road

at the cemetary

to our family plot

slingshot & marble at the ready.

once it was a deer nibbling,

her fawn sheltered inside the tent

of her stilt legs.

I remember

I loosened my grip on the slingshot

& you chastised me for having a soft heart.

a soft heart…

I wonder what you said

when you saw me:

body stilled, limb-less,

my heart you swore you’d harden—shattered

like glass.

I. am. freezing.

someone is worrying my grave,

is it you?

:::

:::

Copyright © 2012

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16 thoughts on “worrying the grave

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