Self-history in quest of
self-knowledge brought me
today
to this
church cemetery.
A certain history
made visible to me today.
I saw my last name - Whealton -
etched on so many stones...
markers of my heritage...
written here
and here and on a stone next to this one,
and over there, and there and there and
there...
Why were my ancestors put into the ground
like plants?
From dust thou art -
it says in the bible,
and to dust one must return...
but there is no such thing as death.
I see my ancestors
immortalized on tombstones
with the marker Whealton - the name I share.
Will I live on as well -
through my writing maybe?
I wonder.
This road I have traveled...
this land I've seen
as I sought to discover this place -
seems too quiet - too deserted...
a town of ghosts, but here
my ghosts tell me nothing.
I imagine I've found a ghost town.
Upfront, within the church that my
great-great-grandfather built
I observe
signs - pictures of recent visitions
by the living.
Names and faces in picture albums
found inside the church doorway...
descendants of those names (?)
on the stones.
What did I come to find?
A place holding clues to my heritage?
or something more,
something I could touch
and see...
a certain stone's proof.
(proof of what?)
Stones that need for nothing,
not sun or food,
nor water
to hold their forms,
their meaning,
and their names.
All I found was dust - along
the roads and among the stone markers
but the names signify
an origin and end.
YOU ARE READING
What Really Matters: Poems About Love, Loss, & Trauma
PoetryThis is a collection of poems inspired by love, loss of love, and other tragic and traumatic events that began in late July of 2000 - so some poems are about love and others about the loss of that love. This is my autobiography in poetry form. I had...
