Buried In Bennington



Bare from winter the Green Mountains rise,

Brown ridge backed beast lined with pine

Hind legs to the ground

Rusted trucks and power lines

The people decay at

Her base

Rivers washing showing new sand

Tree lined bank twisted in a knot

Beyond the bend

Summer waits

At the first old church Robert Frost lays

We walk where the green signs say

To go

The path off to the left invites us

That’s where the young couple go

Where the revolutionary soldiers lay

Where great moms are buried

Restless in his shadow

His family ready to be stacked

Right where birth is written in stone

Engraved death waits for them

Their place in the shadow

The close shadow

Of the only greatness they can obtain

A place in Robert Frost’s grave

Their lives already bargained for

Their worth aligned six feet under

How many feet does it take to bury

A great man?

How many relatives can you stack on one poet?

Stake your dreams on coming here

A pennies worth

You flip out

A poet’s wishing well

Tip a sip for your homie

Watching the braless photographer straddle his grave

As if you could ever be so big

Buried with your back to the church

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