Voices of the Dead

Voices of the Dead

You have to sit in silence
With the voices of the dead
In order to hear them
Really
Black-eyed abbie
Resting eternal
Next to Flora
Wife of
Daughter of
Do they even like each other?
Did they get along?

You have to visit in daylight,
Willing to peel back moss
In order to see the faces
Of the dead
Lost
Among weed growth
Testament to 1858, age five years,
Seven days.

The sky is so blue
There is no word for it
And perhaps there shouldn’t be
Here in this place
Of the dead
It can’t be compared to the blueness
Of their hearts
For good or bad:
Violet even, for WWII blood sacrifice.

Horns and marching band drums
Linger in the sound of the leaves
Falling from the trees
If you listen carefully
Enough to hear them.
World war hangovers
Dying –
Like Ester did
Laid to death eternal
As “wife of”.

You have to sit real still
To hear the voices of the dead.
Abbie A., 1858.