the learning curve

five sets of small bones  
five prisoners of pestilence  
atop a stoney hill  
in the shallowest of graves  
beneath the plainest of markers  
 
I climbed that hill with grandmother  
to her siblings buried there  
her lips moved softly  
but I could not make out the words  
 
fifty years passed until once again  
I climbed to that stoney landing  
I cupped an ear in the wind  
and privately my lips began to move  
as voices rose to meet mine