Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Girard Marchant 10/16/1957 - 08/20/2008
I lost my "Dad dad daddio" on 08/20/2008 and since his funeral on 08/27/2008 I have been visiting his grave site and sometimes I get the urge to write while I am out there and I wanted to post this for the first of hopefully many writings on my new blog.
It's not too eventful. The digging of the grave. Doesn't seem like much work. Two men a tractor and a few boards. That's all it takes. A life is gone and a time forgotten. They come on a little golf cart to do their work.
Silence bleeds in between their machines of absolution. In the silence I can hear the beat of the ravens wings. It sounds so pure like when a child sings. I'm here wondering how to make my thing happen and how tomorrow will look through my everyday glasses and worn out tires. Wondering how people will look at me or how I'll breathe. But they just dig and prepare for the latest soul to rest. Sometimes I wish for that lonely sleep. But what happens after that?
I can feel the cold wet grass become warm and dry under my bare feet as the sun of today introduces all the possibilities of another existence for the two of us. The world and I. My love and I. My life and I. My work and I. My death and I. The warm sun on my back reminds me of dreams and things I wanna be. The warm sun on my back reminds me of me. The warm sin in my heart reminds me to bleed.
I'm looking straight ahead for something but I keep forgetting I'm looking and get lost in the rush of yesterday which makes tomorrow a blink. Then it's here again another year I don't even know where it went. Somehow it got bent. I fight these thoughts of darkness In the dark I'm sleeping. I need an elixir, a fixer, something or somehow to break my disgrace. Something to help me see my face.
I can't find it and I don't even know what it is or how it fits. Like a new pair of shoes or a Christmas gift. I just keep searching and through this mess I sift.
But for what? For who? Just to keep from being the next hole they dig? I guess it's better than giving in.
After they're done digging up six feet of dirt they load it in a truck bed and haul it away and like the remains of a life lived, it slowly rolls away. Then the boards are placed and the tractor leaves the site. Ready for the pain and resolution of tomorrows broken heart goodbyes.
Posted by Matthew Marchant at 11:27 AM