November 2, All Souls’ Day from NOVEMBER: A Poem in 30 Days

Leonard Green grave

All souls guide this serpentine
tour of memorials,
starting from Friendsville Cemetery,
managed by the Westfield Township trustees
in Medina County, Ohio
where my father, Lester, lies
next to his in-laws, my maternal grandparents.
One plot is reserved for Mom.

The red and blue highways on the Rand McNally
intersect, a double-helix of my ancestry,
they snake over
the map to Richwood Cemetery,
a hillside that birthed the town’s municipal graveyard.
Ora, my father’s father, unmet by me,
lies next to his twice-widowed partner,
Vergie, who joined him 35 years later,
with first-born, Leonard, below them.

My trail of graves continues a few miles north,
Powers Cemetery, hiding
among oak and poplar along Cranberry Ridge,
the settlement of Coe, West Virginia on the Nicholas-Webster County line.
Three of my eight great-grandparents, a Civil War veteran,
his teen bride, and a moonshiner
from Carolina,
lie beneath sandstone markers, inscriptions
scratched nearly illegible by 96 years
of wind, dry as the shed
skin of a copperhead
below the hemlocks that shade them.
Years ago, Leslie Williams told me
how to get here, but cautioned,
“Watch out for the rattlers.”

Hours west near the banks
of the Ohio,
a family boneyard of nearly 15 deceased,
disappeared among the woods.
But I was there, so was the red-head
pileated woodpecker, tapping a blue
racer’s white egg,
guarding the sacred ground.
My great-grandfather’s youngest brother,
George Washington, might lie near their father,
John Adams Coe, who willed he be buried
unmarked so “nobody bothers him.”

excerpted from
NOVEMBER: A Poem in 30 Days
in memory of the last month of life of Lester C Coe (1925-1978)

About orangeacorn

We are, I believe, and everything is, in perpetual unfolding/enfolding/evolving. By surface appearances, we're in turmoil and fearfullness, but in fact our existence is on the edge of a new way, beyond the US versus THEM we have grown with. I encourage you to join me over coffee or tea in face-to-face encounters. I call this exercise, "CAFFEINE COMMUNION: Encounters with Paradigm Pioneers." I'm a Columbus, Ohio husband, father and citizen. I practice string band sounds from the ridges of Pocahontas County, West Virginia, the vortex of the ancient drone.
This entry was posted in NOVEMBER: A Poem in 30 Days, Orange Acorn, The Un-empiracal and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to November 2, All Souls’ Day from NOVEMBER: A Poem in 30 Days

  1. I’ve been in your poem. We have a place in Bethesda, Ohio. I’ve walked and prayed with the spirits in the cemeteries in Morristown and others in Belmont County.
    Thank you for your beautiful words.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.