Mama's Grave

When everyone else had gone away
I stood and watched the men --
grave-diggers, the coverer-uppers.

They hung back giving space
in the tree shrouded graveyard 
because they'd seen it before.

My need to be there -- alone, the last,
the oldest son's goodbye. I bent
and scooped the dry clodded earth

Rolling it 'round in my hand.
I dropped it carefully clump by clump
as the men stood silently by.

I heard each thump, each sound, each tap
on the silver-gray lidded box echo inside, 
a hollow sound, a knocking at the door.


1/19/01 - Kenny A. Chaffin