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 market 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 Matters Most: Poems About Love, Loss, & Trauma
PoetryThis is a collection of poems inspired by love, loss of love, and other events that began in late July of 2000. This is my autobiography in poetry form. It's not just about love but also about the loss of those I have loved. I had fallen totally and...
