Whispers of Sorrow
We drove through the cemetery
in the dead of winter
until we found the blue canopy
flopping in the wind
Many inches of snow had fallen
the night before but the plow
had cleared the lanes
A bright sun and dress shoes
hit the asphalt with purpose
As many as a hundred faces
converged on the canopy
in steadfast silence
Gusts of wind arrived from the west
and tossed snow off the roof
and onto the gatherers
Familiar prayers were recited
between coughs and sniffles
and one woman’s weeping
When a bugler played
a familiar lullaby
the vacant faces drifted
in varying directions
whispers of sorrow filling the air
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
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