Gravedigger

The mirror fogs up as I press close, trying to see who I’ve become. The shovel scrapes the tiny patch of earth where the fragments of the past are laid to rest. I set fire to my memories and am warmed by the flames. Each time the shovel falls, another tiny piece of last year disappears. Another thud as the sweat pours freely, and I still can’t see what’s in the mirror, but I don’t stop looking. Ask me who I was on this day 365 days ago and I will say “I don’t know.” Ask me who I am today and I will say “I don’t know,” but I like this guy more. He knows he is broken but he knows he has a future. He’s less of a jerk and the right kind of confident. And he’s burying the dead. Making room for new life.

I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground. Learning to walk after the crawl, longing to fly over the clouds.

May I find solace in the stillness of the night.
Rain and clouds halt early light.
Lightning strikes the same place twice.
And the freshly turned earth reaches flush on all sides.
I wish it was true but I know it’s a lie.

Michael Aaron La Farge

September 3rd, 1985-September 25th, 2012

Beloved son and brother

Grandson and nephew

Cousin? Friend?

Student or teacher? Pastor or preacher?

What else?

Is Mike enough?

The bones beneath the ground trying to get out.
My knees hit the grass and hear their shouts.
What’s buried can come back, can be raised back to life.
But I get back on my feet, I haven’t finished this fight.

Fog in the mirror obscures the future I had all worked out. But not knowing the future doesn’t scare me anymore. Oh, I’m scared. But not of that.

I’m afraid I’ll miss all I can be.
Terrified of one lost moment wasted on anxiety.

So I lay me down to “sleep,” the long sleep of an endless night. Making room for new life and new joy and new love. Those burning memories blaze, into new passions and illuminate the next little step along the way.

I’m walking along the quiet rows, shovel over my shoulder, humming a happy tune. Not looking back and not needing to. I know what’s back there and I’m glad to say it’s gone. At least if I let be. Here comes a faster, stronger, nicer Michael. With the same baggage as the old one but better handling. The first streaks of color tear into the black sky and I know the sun is just over the horizon. Hands raised high, heart on fire as cold, sweet air fills my lungs. The gate swings closed behind me and I lean the dirt-stained shovel against the red-brick wall. Humming my happy heart song and staring into the dawn.

A patch of fresh-tilled earth marks the spot. A mark. A scar. I’ll show you mine, you don’t have to show me yours.

Lines traced on my heart that may never fade.
But the one who hurt because of them is buried in that grave.
I carry his memory with me, a monument to the person we all knew.
And I'm moving down the sidewalk seeing the blackness turn to blue.