Greyed Posts Below the Tree Line

In my month of cleaning the mountain
I learned the location of old grave stones.

Butchered animal bones littered
the dirt inside an old stone foundation

along with rusty accouterments
and leather scraps.

Misplaced nut and fruit trees struggled
to ignore the blind rag doll half-buried in pine needles.

A snake escaped through last year’s leaves
making a grating sound that curled my spine.

For all my washing the whispers of the dead
lay insulated under the soil.

A rusted and shivered muzzleloading musket
spoke of open wounds run red

but not the gravedigger or stone carver
or what dangerous cure was in cobalt blue shards.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s