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She moves wraithlike over the pebbled pathway, each headstone standing in silent salute to her passage. No longer weighed down by mere body, she occupies no space and leaves no trail. Her body is returned to the earth. Her soul is journeying with Ra in search of its own eternal rest. This wraith is but memory.
Memories shared by others who knew her in body, memories from others who captured her likeness first on glass and then on albumen. As the likenesses fan across the tabletop, Sarah Annie comes to life, lives again in my mind’s-eye. She strides down the street on Olive’s supportive arm, both aglow from the attentive flash of the young photographer. Throwing back her head with laughter, she offers a picnic plate across the park bench. Family likeness flares eerily from the dull sepia surface.
Sarah Annie remains with me as I meander between the plots.
5 comments:
I get the link with the Emily D poem.
Interesting remembering people isn't it. What I find fascinating is to compare myself to them at my age ... such astounding similarities and differences.
You are getting me into the mood for digging out the family photos again.
Oh yes and this cemetry us much more to both our our tastes even though they both have autumn trees them.
As I read this, I could easily see the photograph of them in my mind. Funny, how good writing does that.
She will stay in my mind for a while now as well, I think.
Yes, Joan, I figured that Rookwood was more your style as well. It is a magnificent graveyard, but tough on foot.
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