cemetery in the city
there was a lot of digging
through the night
cell phones as flashlights
grunts & snorts
& out-of-breath breathing
—somewhere the dead lay
in fact
they are everywhere
somewhere an extension ladder
was propped against
an oak tree
one where wild animals
awaken from their dreams
by the sounds of predators
a few random ghosts roaming about
studying the markers
fear doesn’t dwell anywhere near
—not of the dark
or full moons
or the mysteries within the trees
by the time dawn arrives
it’s as if nothing had ever happened
except for an occasional cry
or gusts of wind
rustling leaves
come mid-morning a procession
of headlights
roll in as planned
commandeered by the living
praising the dead
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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