Cold caskets tucked deep into concrete lockers. Soil sticks to the sides, caked and cool.
Winds rob trees of leaves as the Earth’s hunger for human bodies continues. Nature proves savage.
The aluminum, wood, and brass caskets like little Hershey Kiss wrappers are keeping our sweet loved ones snug and stiff. They are the many flavors of death.
“Just burn me,” my father said. “Burn me and save yourself the trouble.”
I can see his concern, cold tomb in a cold land. Lonely death to come. Traveling sons who have traveled towards sun, only a wailing wind to weep over his grave in years to pass, so why have one?
I cannot be here.
Overgrown gravestones with weeds choking grass roots and stretching beyond boundaries of crusted engravings reminds me of time that’s spent on Earth.
Choking and stretching, I imagine my father’s body to seem before incineration come death. Smoke billowing from the stack as he rises through the sky mixing within stardust.
As I see him, I ponder on where his youth has gone and if it has gone, was it in vain? I wonder when it was he last jumped, last ran, last laughed among friends. When was the last time he felt he was amongst the stars?