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Outside the Crypt

Fresh graves are a sure sign of spring in Maine,
the earth is finally soft enough
to accept the bodies of those who died after the freeze—
corpses waiting patiently in crypts
since late fall and winter.

I counted six newly dug plots today
during my walk in Evergreen Cemetery
and remembered us all shivering
outside the crypt.

How we shrieked as wind forced umbrellas
inside-out and rain soaked us,
the weather staged for a movie funeral.

But the funeral was real
and there we were,
some of us laughing, some of us crying,
some of us just looking uncomfortable.

A rainbow of plastic flowers
blew everywhere—
lemon and fuchsia daylilies,
tangerine and electric blue daisies,
blood-red carnations, black roses.

 

Sheila Wellehan’s poetry has recently been featured in the Aurorean, Chiron Review, Menacing Hedge, San Pedro River Review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine.

 

Issue 13 >