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.