If the Trees

If the trees in this cemetery could talk,

What would they have to say?

Would they talk about loved ones gone too soon?

Loved ones not at all gone?

Loved ones, and not-so-loved ones, who deserved to be here,

And those who did not?

Stories of grief and gratitude,

Of greed and guilt.

Stories of love lost and love never found,

Of families torn apart by death,

And families brought together by mourning.

If the trees in this cemetery could talk,

They would be wise with years of life and death,

And love,

And mourning.

I wrote this poem not long after my grandmother passed away. I was on one of my usual walks - this time through the cemetery (small-town life means limited routes; don’t judge). As I moved through the quiet, I found myself reflecting on how her passing stirred both the darkest and most beautiful parts of grief.

It brought out an ugliness I never expected to witness, raw, painful, and real. Deceitful, greedy, and hardened. And yet, in the same breath, it wove a quiet beauty: three sisters, once scattered, slowly finding their way back to one another. Rebuilding a bond stronger in the wake of heartbreak and betrayal.

This poem holds that contradiction - loss and light, pain and reconnection.