February 17, 2017

Ford Park Cemetery by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

The orchestra of bird flights were a delight to my eye. Bursts of sun had inundated the sleepy patch of the cemetery. There were two narrow, mowed paths where I had to walk. I had ventured out and dashed upon the coldness. There were little violet wildflowers growing on the corner of one grave. I looked closer —

Anna. D. Murphy
Died 1900. 8 years old. 

Two seagulls 
flew over the vast expanse. When I looked closer, it seemed to be a path leading to another village. It was just a space of vast land, covered with tall green grasses and the smell of mourning. I walked ahead as I watched the sun play a game of hide and seek. I was here on an assignment I had given the self. I ventured out to look at tombstones and think of how life turns out for some — until now, I looked at little windows of houses to think how the confines of their four walls felt.

It was different with death. By virtue — this was a task nobody could accurately explain. It was Sunday, and I was thankful that the cemetery door was left open. It was vacant, for the most, with just two people knelt down at two different graves. I felt as though this were another land. The concerns of people here were different from the outside world. There was an innate privacy that the cemetery offered — though public spectacle was broad.

My eyes took me to another tombstone

Sarah and William,
Died 1874. 8 months old.

The epitaph had blurred but I could read the words "love" and "angels" inscribed. My hands reached out for my handbag. I always kept a little stuffed toy flower I once brought. It traveled with me ever since. I kept it beside their tomb — while a soft drizzle spread on my face as I left.

Sneha Subramanian Kanta believes that all writing is a form of dissent. Her work is forthcoming in Fallujah Magazine, 7X20 mag, Dying Dahlia Review, Sahitya Akademi, Noble/Gas Qtrly, Erstwhile Magazine and the print anthology of Peacock Journal. Her work has been published in poetry anthologies such as Dance of the Peacock (Hidden Brook Press, Canada), Suvarnarekha (The Poetry Society of India, India) and elsewhere. She is a recipient of the prestigious GREAT scholarship, pursuing her second postgraduate degree in literature in the United Kingdom.

1 comment:

  1. A beautiful slice-of-life snippet captured so eloquently in words. I am mesmerized by the imagery in this tale, its almost as if I was walking alongside experiencing the moment with each sentence.

    I love it!