Thankful A. Wilkes

Posted: April 11, 2015 in Uncategorized

She walks on glass,
but feels nothing
in the rows she passes.

Sunsets and shadow
are her halos as she joins
her kind, at Mt. Zion.

“Mrs Wilkes, how you be?”
a voice in the fog calls to a backdrop of silence,
save for crunching shards under bare feet
that skips on air

Thankful says nothing
as she walks to an ancient Oak
where another shadow waits.

Dressed in suited attire,
he reaches for her hand,
and they walk an overgrown path

away from the others who sleep.
The two whisper endearments that no one hears.

That’s not important–no one will ever hear them.

About this poem: When I was about eight years old, my brothers, cousin (like a sister) played in a graveyard above my grandparents’ house. Our farm was the next one over, so it was convenient. We read grave inscriptions, names, dates to get a feel of what sort of life the deceased one might have lived. A large concrete wall encircled Thankful A. Wilkes’ grave with other family members adjoining. I thought Thankful was the neatest name and never forgot. When I did my geneological lines, I did Thankful’s too. Her life opened up to me like a petal blooming. That’s how it works when you work on family lines. It’s as if you walk in his or her shoes. I will always remember Thankful A. Wilkes. I have a pic of me near her grave at a young age. Will try to transfer it here.


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