Poem: The Kindness of Ipswich Graveyards

The Kindness of Ipswich Graveyards

I love the kindness
of Ipswich graveyards

From inside the apartment
it looks cold
but the Gloucester fog
is soft against my cheek
grey as the down of
dandelions

the ones we picked in the graveyard
and I blew with all my breath laughing
do I make a wish?
I asked you
You wish,
you said,
that my neighbor has a taste
for dandelion salad

and with just a hint of guilt
I watch those fluffy invaders
float into a stranger's yard

But I came here for
kindness
so I shook it off and
followed you

your ponderous gait
your Mayflower name
into the unique New England serenity
of trees and green and stone

I followed you
when I wanted to sprint to the top of the hill

but I was here for
kindness
so I stayed with you on the ground
bending over the markers

to you
it was a hotbed of
Hollywood gossip
Come here to the edge-
Let me show where the sinners are buried
markers with no name
facing away from holy ground


I noticed the wings
under the skull of the
mortal angel
and I wanted to run my fingers over the grooves
between the teeth and wings
capture it between paper and charcoal

but you told me rubbing graves
erodes the stones
and only historians have that right

and I was here to do no harm
so a picture
had to be immortality enough

Then I heard you laugh
coming up short at a stone

with just a date and a finger pointing up
“Well” you said smugly
"He knows exactly where he's going"

I crept closer to take a picture
12 years
I saw imprinted on the stone

How kind I thought
How kind to die at 12 years old
knowing exactly where you are going

To meet the grinning angel
unafraid
enveloped in soft grey mist
as innocent and
delicious
as dandelions