Purple Lady Poetry

I was thankful I wore my walking boots
As I counted my paces to match the length of a grave
That wasn’t there.
Nine rows across and fourteen up.
Those were the instructions.

I was thankful there was some thought
Behind this mass abandonment
Of souls too poor to be marked.
The least that can be said is that
The gravediggers had to take care to not overlap.

I was thankful as I stood in your rain sodden spot
To imagine a set of bones below that may,
Or may not, have some connection to myself.
Speaking a greeting to span the years
I achieved a kind of reclamation.