Ain’t nothin’

makes a body think about

the after-life

like an old New England cemetery

on a late January midnight,

where most of the inmates

didn’t have the money

to pay for Perpetual Care,

not that it’d make

all that much difference, there.

Say,

like the old Coventry, Vermont

burial ground

behind the Congregational Church,

circa 1844,

where the fence out back,

hard by the woods,

is fallin’ down

from accumulatin’ snow weight

it can’t hold up no more

and the old stone markers

r’ cracked and broken

from so many cycles

of sun melt and nights frozen in ice

and many of them tomb stones

is buried as deep in snow

as them coffins is in the soil.

But,

still,

we get the skin pricklin’ sensation

that Grandpa Gabriel,

gone now some twenty years,

still sneaks out at night,

twice weekly,

to Bob’s Quick Stop

to snatch a six-pack of Nati-Light.

And Grammy Elizabeth

still floats off to church

every Sunday mornin’

with the tollin’ of the bells

since it’s right next door

and the old pump organ

sounds so like home

and the Franklin stove’s

been recently rehabilitated,

’bout ten years back…

And their dear Great-Grand-Ma

Genevieve

is always invited

to come along to services with Lizzie,

but Grammy insists on layin’ there

in her ashes,

in a snit

’cause she was cremated

instead of buried in a nice

padded oak coffin,

proper,

like she asked

but her kids didn’t have the ready cash

to pay for that exorbitence

LeFevers Funeral Home

charges for that little

extra

extravagance….

But, now, the thoughts that come

from deep in the snow and stone

feel like the gentle

touch of truth.

That singular sense of alone-ness.

The sudden shock of solititude.

There’s no one here!

Certainly,

they’ve slipped away

many times before.

But only to return,

unsure of the next stop

on their journey.

Gabe, Lizzy and Genevieve…

But now,

finally,

they’ve left for good and beyond.

They’ve gotten The Word

at last.

The old echoing sounds,

their tipsy giggles,

the soft gospel harmony,

Grammy’s gripes over her

sorrowful state….

are all silent now.

They’ve all gone….

Somewhere….

Else.