Cemetery road
Walking through thechrysanthemum's icy blows.
Memories everywhere as swift as leaves
in the wind and
sweet as memories of waiting,
of laughter,
of affectionate glances at Christmas lunch.
I
remember little stories etched in the faces of the dead,
family,
community,
consolation at dusk and
terror of
troubled sleeps.
I console behind a stone wall grieving women,
clinging to a true faith,
full of resignation
and
resentment towards gods and saints.
I return home amidst the crowing of
the cock
and the scratching brambles.
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