Père Lachaise
Jim Burns
Paris again, and I visit Père Lachaise
and stand before Le Mur des Federes,
thinking about the Rue Ramponeau
and that afternoon in May
when the last barricade was abandoned.
Behind me, packed closely together,
are gravestones and monuments
to Resistance fighters and veterans
of the Spanish Civil War, and Jews
who were rounded up and slaughtered.
It’s a dull Sunday morning, and a couple
stop to ask me if I know where
they can find the grave of someone famous.
I point into the distance, and a
light rain begins to fall on the forgotten.
[from Ambit 173]
More poetry
|
