Sometimes, when I take a walk in a local
cemetery, I happen to come across graves dedicated to soldiers fallen in the
Civil War. Witnessing these 19th century monuments has caused me no small amount of confusion. It is the reflections on this experience that are the occasion of the short poem below.
Why is the
bark so rough to the touch?
Why is it so brittle?
Shall it fall to pieces?
My hands feel so little
When I caress its creases
Back when the bark was smooth and brown
A slew of
soldiers
were sunk into the dug-up ground
Their
bones do not stir
Only the humming of a passing
car
would cause
vibrations
For us, their
war is too far
Their engraved names a blur
We worry about our generation
Across vast stretches of time
Graves and trees tower over us
But why?
Who will replace the worn-out
plaques?
He, who
remembers.