Headstone

By brian francis

I always bring a knife when I visit you
To trim away the errant strands of grass
Your name on the stone inspires memories
Standing over a hole, holding your hand
Your father, oh God, he was my best friend
In a box lowered into that gaping hole
It was hard to turn and leave him there
In fact, I remember you dragging me away
At least I had you then to be my support
Though sorrow and mourning stole a year away

I pray to God for you when I kneel in this place
To honor your deep respect and strong sure faith
I ask his will be done as you once taught me to
I seek out that warming comfort we call grace
When I stood at that hole — the one we left you in
I remember in tears the sorrow that burdened me
I remember the fear and anger at unsaid words
The rudderless abandon as my soul set adrift
Realizing that I’d never have your hand again
I reached within to that strength that was your gift

Copyright © 2020 Brian Francis