Today's poem is by Linda Nemec Foster

The Cemeteries Near the Ukrainian Border
       

The dead are orthodox. They want cut flowers arranged in perfect bouquets above their hearts and freshly starched bows of white linen attached to their gravestones. Even the mourners have to pay attention to protocol. Heads must be covered, hands folded in prayer, no distracted gazes to the right or the left. The dead are always in your face, up close and personal. "Don't you dare forget us," they demand. And the old women near the Ukrainian border never do. On market day they buy extra bread then cross the San River to the cemeteries. They cover their gray hair, anticipate rain. Toss small crumbs filled with rye and poppy seed amidst the crowded crosses, the rusting crucifixes nailed to trees. They watch the blackbirds take the bread to heaven and pray that the dead will eat and be satisfied.

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Copyright © 2023 Linda Nemec Foster All rights reserved
from Bone Country
Cornerstone Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission