Dust from cars' arrival.
This white wooden church, these
steps to twin front doors.
These handshakes, this embrace and kiss
of aunts from far away. This hymn,
my voice faltering on the refrain.
And after,
this path from front steps to graveyard,
these hands holding, this roar
of passing pickup on the highway,
these strawberry leaves among the stones.
This raw earth enclosing my uncle's body.
Our family's name on this stone and this.
This place that holds our story.
2 comments:
This is a lovely, taut piece, Joanne! I especially like the building momentum in the second section, starting with "And after...through to stones."
However, I find the "Dust from cars' arrival." a little flat and I'm not sure what it's contributing. Also, I wonder if you need the last line? I think it might be sweeter without that conclusive statement at the end.
I love how your use of 'this' grounds this simple(important)story. I do trip though when I reach the twin doors;) I suggest using simpler words, perhaps even just 'the two doors' to keep it grounded & dusty...
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