and wild tufts of grass
tell mixed stories
draped over gravestones,
is so sublime the Pharaoh
the potter’s field
has mystique unknown to
Carved of marble or cast of bronze, and meant to last an eon.
How odd to imagine a permanent mourner.
In the time marble can be carved, I’d prefer any subject on my gravestone to be captured leaning back in a boisterous belly-laugh with a beer can in hand.
Taken on December 27, 2019 in Budapest.
“We didn’t choose this place to rest our bones.
“Were we free, you’d elsewhere find our stones.
“Visit us, you must, in this eerie home,
“Just please don’t leave us here alone.”
Have you ever seen an idyllic, pristine setting, and thought, Under different circumstances this would be the perfect location for a horror film?
That was my feeling as I walked out of the woods and saw this solitary, white church and its graveyard on a hill in central nowhere (No offense, Tennessee.) Picture what this place would be like under a low, roiling, gray clouds. It’s spitting cold rain, the graveyard is leaf-strewn. From which grave will a clawing hand protrude? You don’t know. You don’t know.