WE

 

We are trapped inside.

This is no metaphorical drill;

The gate has been locked

behind us.

 

In today’s offering of gifts and

curses, this one might just be the worst.

Our feet tensely pace on thin grass.

 

It was meant to be a fine day

for poetry and this sacred place,

so before I unravel this long receipt,

I must preface for us characters’ sake —

 

We treaded with tried respect,

No ill-intent, glory, material…

Some frights made cause to dramatize, and

the spirits may not have cared;

​

​

THEY

 

They heard us when their names chimed

from the classroom of the two atoned

and heard us when we planned a visit.

 

I guess they heard us when we cursed the rain,

and skidded through roads for $0.41/min

with nerves dancing on skin on our veins.

 

They heard the cheery man from Senegal

from whom we borrowed water,

We said we knew un peu Français, and laughed.

 

​

THE EARTH

 

The earth remembers too much —

The earth that we sent tremors through

our conversation.

 

On the bright cusp of rain, bird calls

echoed like machines

to pick up ghost sounds.

 

Not glancing back at sobbing clouds,

we passed each other; rowdiness dried

on our tongues when we approached.

 

Rust tinging cinders on black,

the three iron gates hung open

as if hesitating to speak.

 

The first few things we saw

in the cemetery were as follows:

a tall monument

 

and an unassuming shed.

We assumed to the shed

and it creaked back.

 

Then, a line of turkeys

appeared as spawn of the earth;

motherhood and life among sorrowful

earth.

​

​

THE GATES

 

The gates were locked when we got back.

Three locks, secured on

three gates.

 

​

WE

 

We are trapped inside —

a deep drumming stuffs our ears

and sickly spit wells onto our hands —

 

We are trapped inside,

fearing the vengeful dead. We

should have kept quiet, so now

 

We are trapped inside;

three of us, and three

locks and three problems —

 

We are trapped inside. ’Til we spot,

Through the pale dusk, a stone wall.

We can scale…