Monday, November 02, 2015

free verse

I wandered into Forest Hills Cemetery today just before sunset, and man, it's glorious on a Fall day.  I thought I would write some free verse about the experience.


e e

in the heart of boston
protected on all sides by tougher boroughs
lives an unexpected tall wooded forest
with gravestones and chapels;
a sanctuary of souls.

i entered at ten til dusk
on all soul’s day,
astonished to see no other wandering guests,
and not a single bouquet or calavera.
must be some respectable rules about that.

still, lots of movement.
squirrels scattered and birds darted
each time i glanced down another path,
poppy
columbine
bellflower
willow
juniper hibiscus aspen
lupine lilac verbena

i didn’t see althea path where it should be.
i was just beginning to remark what a remarkably
tender and quiet place for reflection
when a security car came flying
around the corner,
chartreuse light spinning with frenzy on its forehead
and an all-business officer asked,
“How did you get up here?
we closed at four-thirty.”

it was four-thirty-three,
i had, i guess, slid in the iron gates at four-twenty-two.
the october sky was starting to drip neon pink and orange onto a pale blue canvas of clouds.

the graves here need evening peace to themselves, i thought.

something is unsettling to know e e cummings’
gravestone spells out his name in all caps.
I am stuck in a wonder:
was such a choice the harsh intention of disrespect, or simply inadvertent?

a speedy adios and abrazos
my romantic bostonian and lover of all things lowercase,
e e.

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