Cemeteries are places we turn our backs on,
Quarantine islands for a contagion that haunts us,
The burden of being human
After the brutal tear in burial earth,
Its too real rupture between now and then,
Obsequies done, comes the great forgetting
We have become adept at it,
Modernity’s casual employees
Serving out our decades of temporary existence
In the fast food joint of an unmoored mind, for
Memory is inconvenient
The pity of it: Souls untended
And these the living
Sometimes, though, one sees the old ways
Spoken in a pidgin tongue, spelled out on graves
In plaster angels and fairy lights from discount stores,
The yearning, however, is real
But you rest in an idea, pure and clear
As chorister’s voice in cathedral heights
Soul-sung in sorrow and beauty
I read poetry by your graveside
With every word remembering,
These are your grave goods, my darling,
All the world’s true things
by R. Nugent
(The picture is a detail from Maudie Brady’s luminously beautiful portrait of Sophia.
Maudie’s website can be found here: https://maudiebrady.com )
Thanks for posting that, Rob. Bless you. Thanks also for the link to Maudie Brady’s work, which until now I was unaware of. Beauty and integrity.
Thank you, George.
Yes, Maudie’s work speaks to me too, as I know it would to Soph. It is both lovely and perceptive.
I think there’s something about Sophie herself that seems to open a door for a particular kind of creative mind actually–those for whom things of the soul matter.
Blessings abound, dear Rob and
Sophie is herself always a blessing to me–even in the deepest sorrow.
And you are a blessing too, dear Kaye.