A poem by Daniela Elza
negotiating with the dead
(at the Mountain View City Cemetery, Vancouver)
here the grass grows over words—
a dandelion past bloom a daisy.
I read: gone but not
(and have to move a clump of clover
to find) forgotten.
or in _______ memory
(and a tuft of grass leans gently over)
loving.
in the sun or shade of cedar
cherry
maple
each plaque sits like a closed book.
each numbered. here even the manhole
cannot be ignored—
craves its own cosmology.
*
a crow flies up claws the sound
of my startled breath.
such stillness spans 10 city blocks
and the traffic could be
the r u s h i n g
of a r i v e r.
another crow is spirited a w a y—
how does one speak with the dead?
apples on an altar? oranges? plantain?
incense? a ritual? ashes of offerings?
fresh flowers?
a special holiday?
what would I say to my grandfather if
I could visit his grave? would I come with a pail
of fresh water to this inverted city where
we the living are upside down. would I sit—
a shadow a silhouette and grow roots of light
right into the ground?
*
and what grief lies buried over there
under the rusty cedar. dry. a monument
or flame? we don’t say goodbye
in this library of lives
lest we forget are uncountable—
1949 1951 1953 this is not a private affair.
seven rows of 1950. four fields of honor
(remain)
among the cedar under cherry blossoms
under the fingers of maple leaves
that grip the ground with each fall
from the bee to the mountain view hold it
all.
as time rolls off a blade
of grass disappears
in the many years chiseled into stone.
Daniela Elza lives in Vancouver, and is currently working on her first full length poetry manuscript and contemplating her doctoral thesis in Philosophy of Education at SFU.
We found the poem at http://www.ditchpoetry.com/danielaelza.htm, it was originally published in Matrix Magazine: The New Vancouver, Issue 84, 2009.
