Most Holy Redeemer Cemetery, Ogema, Minnesota
the oldest graves lie, sagging, under 100 year old pines. mounded, newer graves, lie along the rusting metal fence. a life-sized crucifix—its jesus, green with moss, in excruciating agony—stands at the center. a slough, filled with migrating geese, can barely be seen through a thin haze.
a flock of geese
honk out a requiem
you come here, drawn to the beauty of trees. & standing here, you realize there will be nothing to remain of you after you leave—no stone, no footprint in the soft earth. nothing will tell your story. even these dead leave few traces—a moss-filled name, an embrace of dates, sun-fading plastic flowers. nothing more.
an empty water bottle
on the gravestone—
see! I was here!