Here is the last poem #5 published here for your comments and feedback. Thanks!
by Paul Warloski
I drove past the cemetery too late
to visit Grandpa. The gate is locked now.
Grandma, now 93, takes me to mass
for Thanksgiving, and ancient cantors
lead droning decades of hail marys.
Later, great aunt Virginia, who shared
the guarded family secrets, lays
dying in a hospital bed. Then Friday mass
performed for more dying ancients
in wheelchairs, heads nodding off
in naps interrupted by whispered
and warbled singing, and a final
visit to a nursing home and another
great aunt, whose body has failed her.
On my way home
I visit Grandpa again.
But the gates are still
locked, and I stand
outside the fence,
listening for his silence.
copyright 2009 by Paul Warloski