unmarked

weeds grow tall, untended, past the iron

gate. the air is too still, noiseless. loss

hangs heavy here. concealed beneath

yellow grass, beneath weeds and leaves,

are squares of stone, two inches wide

and aged by rain. that is all that remains

of patients long dead and long forgotten.

I wonder: can there be dignity in death

when no one wanted you remembered?

the only memory left of you no memory

at all. just a cracked gray stone in a field

of cracked gray stones and autumn debris.

no name, no remnants of life. can there be dignity

in death when a grave is marked not to acknowledge,

but to prevent reburial in the same place? there is no

dignity in this death, but you are not forgotten.

This poem was originally published in Issue 3 of Hallowzine, October 2022.