Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, May 23, 2013

A quiet place

by Michael Holme

I lift my inch-too-long trousers as I squelch
over the lawn past trees and a rose bed.
A grandma is pictured at the edge
of the spiky flowers on an imitation
granite memorial. Simple plaques abound.

Gaudy plastic flowers form the bulk
of the rainbow in this garden.
I assume “life is for the living.”

Then I reach it: a maple tree, the canopy of leaves
I’ve never seen. I look down at the cross of calcite
and other noncombustibles on the ground.

The grass is dry here and I sit cross legged.
I say a default hi Love, then reminisce or tell you what’s new.

Blades have started piecing your symbol that dwarfs my seat.
They’re waiting for a lawnmower; then what?
But you’re being consumed by this mighty tree’s roots.

I recite our psalm, 121, from memory, and read
two prayers. Then I think, can I come tomorrow?
The ground is blurring and I add a few salty drops
to the efforts of the elements.
Lighting a cigarette I tell you one way or the other,
never breaking my promise.

Then I walk to our car, carefully throwing
my extinguished stub in a rubbish bin
next-door to a green one full of wilted flowers.
I wipe my eyes, feeling I’ve been with you.

Till we meet again, wish me Godspeed in this life.


  1. This is very moving and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing, Michael

    1. Thank you for your kind comment Anon.