by Ron Whitehead
in the middle of a dark and stormy october 31st night
i convinced a young lady to drive me to the graveyard
i had selected the tombstone a week earlier
during a cloudy windy late afternoon walk
reverend roscoe rankin
january 19, 1809 – october 7, 1849
time was, time is, time will be no more
i was fascinated by the inscription
and the runes etched round the edges
my lady friend pulled her ancient car
up as close as she could then waited
as i moved quickly to the tombstone
bending lifting it was heavier than i expected
lifting bending nearly double i turned
and started my duck walk to the car
on my 3rd step i heard the dogs i paused
turned my head and saw the distant flashlight
on my 7th step the skin on the back of my neck
goose bumped my long hair stood straight up
on my head as i heard a ghostly voice whisper
“put it back” oh lord i waddled faster towards her car
10th step 11th step 12th step and on the 13th step
i arrived and gathering all my strength i lifted hoisting
the tombstone into the trunk and with dogs growling
snarling howling and the jostling beaming flashlight
drawling ever closer i yelled “DRIVE!” and she drove
back to my cloistered apartment she helped me
carry the tombstone up up 14 steps through the door
then gently we placed the tombstone on the center of the floor
and with tea bags dangling dancing cross the ceiling
i placed 7 candles atop the tombstone
then lit them one by one
and as the storm banged and crashed out the window
we burned spiritual sky incense
listened to gregorian chants
whispered poems by william blake
and at morning’s first light
our bodies wrapped around the tombstone
we slept