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WOLF ROAD AND HOLY GROUND

It’s a steep hill a slow climb a dirt track
bordering the cemetery
Wolf Road where we went as teenagers much as we could
to neck and drink beer watch the stars move
no thought for the sleeping dead

the radio and the sound of our breaths
our world was wild
blackberries in brambles and sumac
the dark was deeper than the trees
the moon pushed the shadows in slow motion

the cemetery to the left just as steep
the family plot first grandma then
mom and dad near the top the cornfields
begin there and hay fields I think back so long
when I was a teenager every time I’m there
the startle and thought the strange juxtaposition
of holy ground and Wolf Road
I visited more often then

now through the long stretch of time
the only sound
my own


  Gregg Weatherby