Dear Samantha Green
Dear Samantha Green,
Lying in repose in a cemetery
Guarded by a red oak tree,
Planted by an Indian chief to honor
His lost daughter who died in the pursuit of love,
How would you feel
To find out that locusts crawl
Among the bouquets of petunia and rose
Placed to honor your kin?
How would you feel
To find out that the wrought iron fence,
Once shiny and new,
Built to protect your grave from defilers
Has since rusted and decayed?
How would you feel
To find out that your grave,
Made of the finest marble
When you died eighty-six years ago
And engraved with your name,
Your date of birth, the date you passed away,
Has faded into dark and moss-covered stone
And water is needed to wipe away
The collected dirt and grime of eighty-six years
And reveal the secrets of your name?
How would you feel
To find out that the American flags
That fluttered in the breeze on the day of your funeral
Now lie in the dirt on this hot summer's day,
Tattered and in pieces after the trampling of
Eighty-six long, long years?
How would you feel
To find out that the trees,
Planted in the cemetary to provide shade,
A momentary relief from the blazing summer sun,
Have overgrown, their roots growing unabated
On top of the sacred space that contains
Your grave, and their branches have obscured
Your name, your date of birth, the date you passed away,
Having fallen on your gravestone, undisturbed?
How would you feel, Samantha?
How would you feel?