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