INWOOD ★ INDIANA ★ A REAL SMALL TOWN ★ InwoodStories & poems from a real small town

Grave Robber by Lianne Kamp

I crawl under the blanket of evening and

press my ear into the soft ground –

listen for the voices that were silenced here

eyes cloaked and soul exposed – I welcome

them to pass through – feel the breath

on my cheek as their lives wash over me

reaching for the cool stones – my  fingers

trace the names and dates while I imagine

the flesh that dressed their bones

all their years that have fallen away –

some like over-ripened fruit too heavy

to cling to the branches

others as brittle leaves in fading colors

too frail to remain for another winter –

we are connected in these nighttime visits

life and death pressed together forever

in a chain of prayerful hands – where I steal

a moment’s peace from their eternity