Lift
The groundskeeper calls to say
all our family headstones have been raised.
I hope it wasn’t a damaging project—
to elevate granite slabs above
ground level from sunken spaces
they’ve rested in for decades.
And I don’t mean to be irreverent,
wanting to bring up my ancestors long after
they were lowered to become earth.
But now I can clearly read their names,
the loving adorations of Dearest Aunt,
Faithful Grandfather, see hundreds of years
they collectively spent with each other.
I’m only the distant kin who loves
to trim around their edges every spring—
ants racing across etched letters
faster than I can sweep them into dirt.
No more spiky weeds to outline
each grounded monument, hiding
our family’s past from easy view.
I know they’re not here anymore,
but—by only a few inches—
they feel a little closer when I kneel.
About the Author: Alan Perry is a poet and editor whose debut chapbook, Clerk of the Dead, was a finalist in the Cathy Smith Bowers Poetry Competition, and was released by Main Street Rag Publishing (2020). His poems have appeared in Tahoma Literary Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Third Wednesday, San Pedro River Review, ONE ART, Gyroscope Review, and elsewhere. A Best of the Net nominee, he is a founder and Co-Managing Editor of RockPaperPoem, and a Senior Poetry Editor for Typehouse Magazine. His next chapbook, The Heart of It, will be published in 2025 by Kelsay Books. More at: https://AlanPerryPoetry.com.
Image Credit: Childe Hassam Colonial Graveyard at Lexington (ca. 1891)Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 