Dear Ancestor

 Your tombstone stands among the rest;
 neglected and alone,
 The name and date are chiseled out
 on polished, marbled stone.

 It reaches out to all who care
 It is too late to mourn,
 You did not know that I exist
 You died and I was born.

 Yet each of us are cells of you
 in flesh, in blood, in bone.
 Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
 entirely not our own.

 Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
 one hundred years ago
 Spreads out among the ones you left
 who would have loved you so.

 I wonder if you lived and loved,
 I wonder if you knew
 That someday I would find this spot,
 and come to visit you.


A visit to the Gravesite