ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
THIS AFTERNOON
I walked over the cemetery
to the oldest part at the back and higher
where the weeds had been knocked down
and the bare fieldstones on the slave graves
looked like shoulder blades sticking up
their names their birth their sorrows
wrongs and work and wonder and words
for it and mouths to speak minds
to call back and look forward
what they built and carried and knew
what was in their pockets or whispered
back at them with a smile before sleep
and their names are in a register closed to me
the stones are sticking up
someone has cut the vines back
and brought down the saplings
sun and shade go by in turns
birds fly over on their way
not far to an unseen shelter
when I hear the cars
over on the road go by
it sounds like someone's life
slowly escaping