First published June, 2002..
Decoration Day dawns like any other
May day in Alabama. Strange…It seems
Those occupying space between reality
and its twisted sisters in some foreign,
yet detectable dimension would have
some perceived power over such events..
Their allegiance unknown, yet suspected
To fall with us, such stupid fools as those
Who go to make beautiful that which we
Fear and forget three hundred sixty four
Days a year…
So in the name of respect we take the
Floral tokens of our love to those who
Cannot see them except for what they are…
Death masquerading as beauty and doing
A damn good job, we lay our bribe at the feet
Of our precious protectors who slumber.
Trying to disguise what is waiting for us
Below the ground that is not so hard as
We think, the barrier between us softer
than we realize. Or are we merely planting
our garden in the most fertile ground we
can find; the only sowing that will surely
reap us all, where our ancestors exhale
their muddy regrets below the names we
Carry in our pockets engraved on plastic
That will last much longer than this flesh.
The land promised to us all yet wanted by none.
I put my ear to the crest of the tomb.
What is that stirring beneath the immortal
Stone? Reality or hope imagined?
One day discovery will belong to me.
One day, it will belong to you.
Copyright © 2002 Jana W. Younger
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