a cemetery

A cemetery

So, quiet here, yellowing grass
fallen leaf turning dark
like the hands of a day laborer
Dignified rusty teared crosses
Names on headstones, a whisper
of one who died in 1852
Did he die from a war wound?
A cat keeps an eye out for mice
like its ancestors did before
the oak trees grew tall.
There is talk of removing
headstones and crosses, making
a garden with benched and
bright flowers, and no one will
know what is down in the soil
A French architect thinks it is
a precise place for posh villas
As it is, no one asks the cats