Among Distant Relatives

One day we walked among distant relatives,
Pacing slowly beneath oaks and cedars, eyes glancing
From stone to stone, some hidden by growth of grass and weeds.

My wife had done her research well, and soon
We knew we were in the right place, surrounded
By familiar names and some less well known.

St. Joseph's Catholic Church must have been
The German congregation, the Fests and Schmidts and Horns
Far outnumbering Morales and Sanchez and Gonzales.
Just the opposite on the other side of Commerce Street,
In old St. Mary's the Fests and Horns lay among strangers.

The day was hot, even in early June, the sun also
Reminding us that we were home. Distant traffic and people
Went about their business, but within their gardens the dead
Lay silent amidst a chirping choir of birds and insects.

We trod carefully among the weeds and stones,
Noting the fallen markers strewn amidst those still standing,
And wondering if they had been toppled by time or vandals.

Some were gathered together in family groups,
Segregated from the rest within low walled plots
Or behind rusting iron fence work, here and there remnants
Of a gate still standing guard against casual intruders.

But we were more than strangers, more than casual passers-by,
Wandering among trees and stones to spend an idle hour.
We were walking with a purpose, stepping softly
Among monuments to our own particular past,
Among familiar and forgotten forebears,
Who left these terse reminders of their passage and their ends.

Strange to feel so welcomed, to think ourselves rewarded
And nearly comforted to discover so many distant relatives
Waiting here to greet us with vital statistics and
A final word or two, hier ruht in frieden.

So many are children, brothers and sisters who died young,
Maybe even stillborn, never having breathed the air
Or walked the earth that now is dedicated to their memory
By tiny stones carved with names and dates not far apart.

And as we snap photographs and make notes among tombstones,
I think I understand what they are saying to us. I hear
The reassuring testaments of iron and stone and monuments,
Not in words exactly, but in a language
Older even than the pyramids of Egypt, or of Mexico.

© 2005 by Michael L. Hall