Warwick Cemetery

The oldest ones came west in the 1700s,
drank from clear streams, ate what they
grew, foraged from wide chestnut trees.
You'd be surprised how alive these
old ones still are, if you call to them
and listen with care.

They’ll drift into Town Hall to take measure,
join any party you invite them to.
When they arrive for Town Meeting
they’ll even swing the vote.

When I join them, I’ll rise up from my burial place
and turn like a dancer, bones
pushing into damp grass, skull
pointed toward the trees. I’ll rise
and listen to the scarlet tanager sing,
meet my neighbors on this hill.

Bring me cups of tea.
Pour it over my grave, good strong Irish tea.
It will be such comfort.