Roll the bones

Curious, how different traditions regard the burial of the dead -- in ancient days, the body was not so reverenced in death as perhaps it has now become. Cemeteries used to be a grim and insalubrious reminder of mortality, a far cry from the garden splendor and soaring monuments we enjoy today. A meditation on the meaning of epitaphs and burials, including "Spoon River Anthology" -- words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Stacks

In amongst the dead divide
unbothered by the sun or even
by the weight of brothers, piled beside
or on high -- they cannot breathe
and cannot form opinions either
to be angry or to make remonstrances
at those who lodged them so on end.
I have seen glimpses of stacks
of dead, as they say, heaped
quite end on end and piled very high --
I think this is a singular way
to die, yet in graves we molder,
in boxes often several deep;
no one ever stops to weep for that
peculiar circumstance. How odd is it
to welcome several more?
Are burials of numbers not always
layer cakes, at best? Can we
not celebrate our numbers, then,
and make peace with all that rest?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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