We crawled around
like quail in the village
graveyard, hid, dead-quiet,
behind the markers
at the foot of the hill, until
Larry slowly finished Taps
on his trumpet, poignant,
for baggy mourners
in their herringbone
overcoats. I felt at ease
among the tombs
and trees, never skipping
on the blanket-tops, I tipped
small, pigeon-toed around
the headstones, carefully,
not to disturb the slumber,
not to step directly
on their beds,
crouching low, still,
against a cold marble
pillow, to prevent
the crunching of leaves.
Tess Kincaid
October 27, 2010
I have fond memories of tagging along with my young uncles, who were actually more like brothers to me, in the Burlington Cemetery, Carroll County, Indiana when I was a girl. We would watch quietly, from a safe distance, while my Uncle Larry, played Taps for local funerals on his trumpet.
Posted over on Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 38
Image of and by Miss Willow
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