Bry Meister
My Nighttime Perusal of Holy Ground I lay in the grass of the graveyard path, looking at the sky and wondering if God reads the epitaphs of those buried, and judges the verses they chose to love. Flickering flags and weathered stone angels greet those who wander the crooked aisles: roses, sunflowers, peonies, daises laid by visitors atop the cool stones. Plastic, marble, iron, and gold crosses, differing heights stuck in the red-clay ground. The righteous shall go into life eternal – John 3:15, the most common scripture. It is dark outside beneath the stars, but I wonder if it is cold under the ground.
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