The Reminder

by

Jim Wisneski

Headstones balanced against a fresh sunset. The dark curves - upside down smiles - stare back. They’re calling. Stems ride from the dead ground. A faded picture - curls and sways - with no breeze. Can you hear ghosts whispering? Or the soul of the living. . . They huddle to the black gates. The bicycle on the ground. One wheel still spinning - click, click, click. Can you smell the cold air? Its fingers reach inside. Lighted steps hobble. Create an underground thunder. The roar of life - the celebration. With the round reminders. . . They’re waiting