Deceased’s Infirmary

For D.N.

We were walking on the frozen ground,
the deceased’s infirmary below our feet,
stopping at the foot of the beds of both
the old and the young. Charts at the head
telling us the vitals of their stay, many
pieces of information about their conditions.
Some lay together as a family on their last
outing, generations coming together
for a final reunion, and some lone with
the details faded out by years of wind,
rain and snow, peaceful bodies, deep
in their sleep with nothing left to say.

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This is a new poem for me. 2017