Jewelry of the Dead

Small town cemetery
At peace on the hill
A parfait of deceased citizens
Are released here as fill
The granite and stone
Dispersed in varied colors
Shapes heights and tones
At night it is lit by
Stored sunlight
The jewelry of the dead
Reflects beauty
In its permanence
The anchor of families
Outlasting impertinence

As I roll slowly through
Or walk in between
The names of the people
I know and have known
Strumming comfortable
Familiar chords indicating
Everything is as it should be
Isn't it interesting, isn't it free?

The gushing peonies
Bloom and hang with spring rain
As I drive through here
Again and again
Looking for progress
In trees we have planted
Hoping for living landmarks
Increasing advantage over
Neglected and sinking
Markers in rows

I smile seeing names
Of kind relatives gone
Who loved me in hope
I would turn out alright
Their markers are witness
To my acknowledgement of
Their love and pure kindness
Which continues to glow

This hill has a sweetness
Of beauty and still
A lasting display of our
Ancestry mill
Nothing much matters
But names as they are
All seem quite similar
As an assembled stadium
Of citizens and families
Rooted here long
Some have dispersed
Visiting once

Someday I won't
Return here
Even in death
But my name is already
On my parent's red marker
Attesting to the best of what
Lives can dutifully muster

Let this poem be my lasting
Will and testament
Of an impression once rendered
By visiting often
This small town's collection
Of love and remembrance.

-Kelly Voelker