I still can't go there. <br />To that little swatch of grass <br />bathed in sunlight <br />without even a dappling of shade <br />It seems like a green field of memories <br />with almost no one left to remember <br />Even the words subscribed on the tiny brass plaques <br />seem somehow belittling <br />With them set into the ground <br />for the convenience of mowers <br />to pass over <br />It makes her seem <br />so inconsequential <br />that she shouldn't trouble the groundskeeper <br />with her monument <br />It makes me think of the mundane consequences of death <br />that overshadow the greatness of life <br />Like the simple economics <br />of maintenance <br />I can't look at the life of such a beautiful women <br />summed up in such a small way <br />it seems so common <br />so trite <br />I know that she would have told you <br />that she was common <br />but she wasn't <br />She had a greatness in her soul and being <br />that transcended the normal <br />that transcends death <br />I am overwhelmed by that little plaque <br />and it's insignificance <br />Enough to paralyze me from going there <br />I know that if I see it it will push <br />the other memories from my mind <br />and supplant her <br />She will become a place in a cemetery <br />with a little map on the grounds keeping shed <br />gridded and numbered <br />number 6 in row B <br />a little part of the order in a small field <br />and I can't have that<br /><br />James Jarrett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thinking-about-the-cemetery/
