Sentinels

“Old North Cemetery” by Mary Sarg Murphy

 

I never felt wind
in a graveyard
flowers stand where they died
unscattered and dried
by the merciless
beating rays of the sun
perhaps stillness
is something ordained
by the stones
somber sentries
permitting no airstream
to move through these
wrought-iron precincts
except for the breathy
expulsion of sighs
that accompany whispers
from underneath
mounded green sod
asking “Why?”
then and now
once and over again
but no answer
has ever stirred
motionless mourning
no reason been heard
by the dutiful stones
or the listening bones
lying under their watch

(originally posted November 2013)