Here in South Louisiana along the coastline (disappearing coastline), the water table is high. If you dig too deep, you reach water. Or rainwater will wash the coffin out of its place. So graves are not usually dug into the ground; they are placed in mausoleums above ground. This photo was taken from the parking lot of my school in Coteau next to a Roman Catholic church. I was drawn by the stark white with the background of yellow wild flowers. As always, you are welcome to write whatever this conjures for you in a small poem in the comments. Please support other writers with encouraging comments.
My poem came after choosing words from Laura Purdie Salas’s newsletter, “Small Reads for Brighter Days.” I chose the words time, wave, float, if. It’s sad. I spoke with a friend who said that it’s good for poets to share their sadness. They become a vessel for holding the sadness in the world.
More Time
Margaret Simon, draft
If time
were captured
in a bottle
like Jim Croce wrote
in 1970
before his tragic death
in 1973,
I could open a bottle
of you, Dad, and talk
more about the stuff of life.
Today, I look at a tomb
floating above water,
a boat of bones,
and secretly wish
a wave would come
and wash away the remains.
Would you stay?
Reflections on the Teche 
How comforting this photo is to me, never having seen or known about this practice (other than indoor mausoleums). I can’t quite say why (though I believe I know). But I take the comfort, anyway. Thank you for posting about this, Margaret.
NOTHING MORE TO SAY
You are somehow
less gone
not underground decaying
as I have never
found comfort
in returning to the earth.
“somehow less gone” – a comforting sentiment indeed.
Yes, Carol, I agree with Rose. Yes.
“Somehow less gone” affected me today. I really have not thought of the above ground tombs as being more comforting than burial. Thanks for writing.
Thank you, Margaret. I’ve heard it said that people are never forgotten if we say their names. I think the blooming wildflowers are doing just that.
Wildflowers bloom,
remember the family
who once,
long ago,
gathered blossoms.
I love that, Rose—linking the new blooms to the blooms once gathered.
So many blossoms. I wish we all wanted to be surrounded by beauty and blossoms.
I love this small homage to the family who look out on the wildflowers. You’ve touched me heart with your words.
We are all
coming into the light
golden, warm, peaceful
light. Flowers bloom,
hearts sing,
remembering.
We are all
coming into the light.
Janet Clare F. @draft
Happy to have an idea come quickly as we are off on a jaunt. Thanks always, Margaret.
Your repeated line is very comforting, Janet.
Janet, I love the repetition. I talked with my student about your circle structure. She liked it and decided to use it in her own poem:
Nyx, Goddess Coffin
Goddess coffin,
dazzling petals
in the summer breeze.
Goddess coffin,
the one I worship,
Goddess coffin.
Avalyn
“Goddess coffin” and the power of three – sigh!
Janet, I love the feel of ‘community’ you created here…comforting.
I don’t know if I will write one today. We lost a friend this week also.
This conversation reminds me of a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52773/dirge-without-music
I hope you don’t mind me referencing it. Especially “the light in your eyes”, the witty, the tender. Etc.
I love Avalyn’s poem! Also, Janet’s coming into the light, Rose’s gathered blossoms, and Carol’s comfort.
Hugs, Karen.
Karen, I saw the Millay poem at Marginalian, it was made recited/read with lovely music in the background and posted there. If you can’t find it, I can put a link here. I am sorry for your loss and glad that some of our words brought you a touch of comfort.
Margaret, So beautiful and moving, Time in a Bottle, a favorite. I have a dad story and poem from last weekend. And yes….another word, wave, hug. Please let Avalyn know I am glad my circle poem guided her lovely poem for Nyx.
The photo IS striking, Margaret. What strikes me most in your poem is the longing for your father and the cleansing power of water. Would you stay? – what a mighty ending line.
Fran, I feel like I will long for and write about my father for the rest of my life.
It is the same for me. And yet I can’t bear the thought of turning my journal from the year he died (when I was 22) into anything else. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow.
It is the great price of a great love ❤
Margaret, from a poetry perspective, “boat of bones” just wowed me. From a personal perspective, the loss and yearning in your poem made me choke up. I love sad, melancholy songs, like “Time in a Bottle,” which was a favorite of mine growing up. And I also love the idea of poems as a place for holding sadness. Just gorgeous. That ending line, too. Wow. Hugs to you, my wonderful poet friend.
Hugs back to you, my wonderful poet friend (blushing a little at this high praise)