Ozark
After Service Playground
I’d
ramble though the cemetery
Where
the grass was soft
Still
filled with dew
At noon
on a Sunday afternoon
Skipping
through the headstones
Playing
tag and studying
What
people die of
Or where
they were from
Or speculating
where they went to
By the
small clues
On worn
out tombs
That
were our play things
Not really
knowing the folk
That
smoked and choked
Their
way into these graves
We thought
them snug as bugs in a rug
Dug down
deep
Not scary
or strange
Just
sitting on stones
Letting
the wind blow
My ringlets
swinging like bells
As the
church would toll in time
It
rang to call me in
From
a grand day of pasture play
Tattling
to all saying,
“It is
time to go little girl.
Out from
those that have gone
into
the car with those bound in bond.
Safe
with your family,
waving
bye to friends
That
played with you today.”
Then
bumping over the dirt path
Finally,
out onto the country blacktop
Like
a hot bath the heat would cook us alive
Till
I begged to open the car window
To the
wide world
In the
stiff wild wind whistling by
I’d
stick out my head
Sucking
in the summer salty seeds
That
stuck to me like glue
Undoing
the Sunday best
Rearranging
frilly buttons and bows
To hear
the bees buzz
In my
ears as we sped
further
down the road
pointed
towards home
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