HOW IT’S DONE HERE

We heat graves here for winter burials

as a kind of foreplay before digging in,

to soften the frosthold on the ground before

the sexton and his backhoe do the opening.

Even the earth resists our flesh in this weather--

regards the mess a new grave makes in snow

the way a schoolgirl in her new prom dress

regards defilement. It is over, though,

almost before it’s started, almost routine.

The locals mount in their brisk procession,

the cleric with a few words of release

commits the body to its dispossession,

then blesses everyone, seen and unseen,

against forgetfulness and disbelief.