It Is

It is soothing to sit in the shadow of our grave

To rest my back once again upon the firm support of you, Mom, and Dad

To feel the moist, soft breeze on this August morning 

Aware now of distant traffic mixing with the calls of the crows and cicadas

Just a yard's toss from a seminary and Kodak that are no more.

A toddler toddles leading her mother and sister on a search for Grandmother’s grave

A couple in their seventies purposely walk between sections, garden trowels, baskets and flowers in hand tending to their loves

Under a tent, a casket sits, mourners gathered in their black, soon to disperse and continue on again

Not so you and I.

Familiar childhood names surround us: Bianchi, Barbato, Biondi, Wegman, Mazzarella

Above me you wait, David J. DeMarle, Gertrude A. DeMarle, James R. Reda

My loves and my losses. With "Ann M. DeMarle" awaiting my final date

I can hold that now and no longer fear it. A gentle curiosity of how and why and if and who will tend me and hold my hand if it is to be held.

For now, I sit with you, upon the stones and moss, glad your vantage point is circled in blue above

Just high enough that my fingers can caress your name, your image

Looking out on now.