At the Gravesite

(Although I the word "I" in this poem a lot, this is a work of fiction . . .


colder'n blue blazes
preacher standing ramrod straight
mouth so cold
lips turning blue
mouthing verses mouthing verses
nobody hears
after he speaks them
and words pass his mouth
only to shatter in the cold, graveyard cold
I'm dressed warm
not warm enough to stop chattering teeth
shivering
not all from the wintry blast
no
their eyes
looking at me instead of the preacher
even the preacher
presented me with a glacial sneer
before he started mouthing verses
no one hears
not supposed to be here
I don't care
hungry panther couldn't keep me away
I loved her
more than anyone did
even her husband
especially him
preacher stopped mouthing
silence
two strangers walked to flag-draped coffin
took it
stood in front of the husband
she was a veteran
folding the flag to precise specifications
every fold means something
so I've been told
the two armed service guys
presented the flag to the husband
everyone stood
whispered among themselves
hate-filled eyes darting toward me
I remained sitting
not part of the ritual
would not pretend I was
they all left
eventually
only I remained
two men showed up
to fill the grave
I held up a hand
They stepped back
I rose and walked toward where she lay
knelt at the foot of it
tried to speak
couldn't
tried to pray
I couldn't do that either
one of the grave men coughed
I got up
wiped at the tears
I left
leaving my heart
at the bottom of that hole

©August 10, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton