The Beckoning One evening when the sky was a dark opal blue And the gnarled trees Swayed and bent in the deep wind, The boxwood scented air and the Ozoned mist dappled my skin. I walked amid the graves, thinking of Dad, And the soldier from World War I, And the infant with the stone lamb for a grave, And wondered – Where would I go? Would I join them in another realm or Another time and place? Or were they truly ash and dust now, Covered with dirt and grass and Bouquets of faded flowers? Then, for an instant I knew, as I gazed into the opal blue and we merged. I heard the wind and the mist, the sky and the moon. They called to me, gently, quietly, from far away. Then, I was back. Kneeling at my father’s grave, removing The dead flowers, laying down the new.
Sarah Kristensen is a Washington, D.C.-based poet and short story writer. Her work has been published in Scattered Thoughts and Writer’s Digest. She is a graduate of American University.
Image: “Kullu Valley from Rohtang Pass 2, India” by Vyacheslav Argenberg under Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license.
