Her voice trickles through heavy roar
of traffic, not like marigolds who hold their
petal memories above forgotten graves behind
concrete walls where ancestors drift in trembling
light that makes its way through cloud grey skies.
And lovers dance over bones of those remaining
under sidewalk gardens and marble columns,
turning up the volume of white space between
beats as figures trace two, now one in embrace,
and bow and turn between the jugglers’ trance.
And our ancestors smile.
This weekend I was delighted!
Three of us trotted into Capitol Hill to write poetry. Through the sponsorship of The Lighthouse Writers Workshop and Write Denver, we joined about twenty others who walked the town to write poetry. Check out Denver Poetry Map where you can read the city.
Bullhorn in hand, our leader took us to the Denver Botanic Gardens, Cheeseman Park, houses in the Cheeseman area, and a coffee house. We stopped, listened to a local poet’s poem through the bullhorn and wrote for fives minutes, then we moved on.
It rained. First big rain of the season.
And then there was Ice Cream Riot. What better way to end the day with “milk stout” scoop? Yes. Stout. In vanilla ice cream. Oh!
Cheeseman Park and the Denver Botanic Gardens are built on top of a graveyard. Attempts were made to remove all who rested there, but as ground is turned for new projects, more ancestors are found.
One can remove bones, but spirit will be where spirit will be. We mustn’t forget.