Graves and Chairities
©2011 Susan Noyes Anderson
What does it mean?
I am part of a scene,
and the chairs are filled
with ghosts.
If no more alive,
I would rather arrive
in a field graced by
heav’nly hosts.
Angels with wings
sing and strum at harp-strings;
a ghost is unshriven
and moans.
Unholy, it seems,
to surrender my dreams
in a graveyard whilst flesh
coats my bones.
Chairs to the right
and the left as the night
inches into me. Nay,
let me go.
I turn around,
seeking; but oh, the ground
pulls. It pulls…how it pulls
me below.
