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 