The Reminder

Headstones balanced against a fresh sunset.

The dark curves -

upside down smiles -

stare back.

They’re calling.

Stems ride from the dead ground.

A faded picture -

curls and sways -

with no breeze.

Can you hear ghosts whispering?

Or the soul of the living. . .

They huddle to the black gates.

The bicycle on the ground.

One wheel still spinning -

click, click, click.

Can you smell the cold air?

Its fingers reach inside.

Lighted steps hobble.

Create an underground thunder.

The roar of life -

the celebration.

With the round reminders. . .

They’re waiting

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