Graveyard Ghazal
       

With prayer and song, I call to the dead.
Chased in dreams by grief, I fall toward the dead.

Rest in peace, we say, but cling and carry
on. Our ugly snuffiings appall the dead.

Like babies, ghosts reach for shiny objects.
Jewelry and moonlight enthrall the dead.

Another school shooting. Students leave gifts—
notes, flowers, pom-poms, a doll—for the dead.

The orphan built a castle in her heart.
Locked windows, doors. Behind each wall—the dead.

I trust Brigid's forge, Demeter's grain, Pan's
forest songs. Don't tell me they're all dead.

Moonlight in the newly-dug hole. A guard
paces. Tomorrow they'll install the dead.

What do they miss most? A loved one's laugh? Their
own bodies? Food, music, rainfall? The dead

take so much with them—secrets, stories, love,
portions of our hearts. Those prodigal dead!

Is that hawk a sign? Or those bold sparrows?
Alison, they're only birds, drawl the dead.

Tweet
Copyright © 2019 Alison Stone All rights reserved
from Slipstream
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission