Evergreen
A poem
Yesterday was my father’s birthday. He would have been ninety years old had he not died at the age of thirty-four, when I was a child of nine years. He was interred at Evergreen Cemetery in Seattle, and we moved to Southern California soon thereafter.
When I was in my early thirties I took a road trip from California to Alaska and stopped along the way at the cemetery. It was my first time there as an adult. The next time I visited I was in my early fifties. I spent some time at the grave, sitting with my thoughts, and then my traveling companion, Chris, drove us to the coast and down to Portland. It was an unhurried and quiet day of reflection, occasional conversation, and beautiful scenery. I composed this poem on the drive. Chris provided excellent feedback and, in fact, pointed me to the poem’s title.
Evergreen
You’ve been gone longer than you were here.
The smooth granite surface of your marker
has eroded to a tactile roughness
resembling its unpolished beginnings.
Six feet beneath me rest the artifacts of
your brief presence, in dust and bone,
as I sit on the grass, in the sun, and think
about the distance between us in time.
I trace the outline of your name, your years,
the Bible verse that summarizes your intent,
and wonder at the gravity that this small
patch of distant real estate continues to exert
on the desperation of my orbit.
Thank you for reading Every Other Sunday. Please share it with someone who would enjoy it.
Beautiful.