Cemetery

Xuemeng Zhang

Rain; in the midst of
Weather that wasn’t expected, an unexpected visit
On a random winter’s day

The soil was soft. Even they, too, slept
With grogginess, like at that last party,
Shoes and socks, all over the place

After inebriation, death, brings
Another knock at the door. Goodbye, they said,
Faces flushed, no chance to wave;
They grab their hats off the hook, in a hurry
To follow death away

If you bend down, much of the evidence
Is no longer recognisable. Let the moss
Continue its unfit inscription:
Year, Place, and Epitaph,
Leaving open the inky questions

The only remaining vivid colour
Is the mistletoe wreath.
Two poppy flowers handles, lying before
The battle history that engraved.

Talking to an old man, “It’s a
Good place, isn’t it?”
Pupils clouded; his fingers trembling
Like feathers in the wind.
“I’ve built a website for this spot
With its interesting history.”

He turned, walked towards another entrance.
Overly abrupt, thick cypress trees
Obscured his back. I knew it would be
Difficult to meet him again.

The sun began to climb
Revealing itself from behind the clouds.
A tilting monolith met
Its brief, golden touch.

It was him and his wife. Six years later
Reunited here.

Like when they were young, they travelled
To the seaside. She loved to wear red,
Lying back in a deckchair.
Her breath, exuberant and fresh.
She lowered her head, and shyly
Spread two little toes.
He watched her: her hair
Under the sun, in the sea breeze.
And all of that,
All for a fleeting glance.

2023