Ditto
They say, “We bury our own here.” *
He picked up the shovel stuck in the heap
Of dirt left to cover the grave;
Eased a light shifting of sun-dried soil
Onto the casket below
Encasing his beloved
Man cousin,
Stuck the shovel back
Into the dirt heap, turned and plodded
With head hanging low
Back towards home.
I picked up the shovel in the dirt heap
Of dirt left to cover the grave;
Eased a light shiftig of sun-dried soil
Onto the silk red fur coat
Of the dog at in the grave below,
Encasing my beloved
Golden Retriever.
Stuck the shovel back
Back onto the dirt heap, turned and plodded
With head hanging low
Back towards home.
*old saying in Appalachia: The first person to throw dirt in the grave of a deceased is the one who loved the deaceased the most.
2 thoughts on "Ditto"
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Very interesting way to write this poem, and I am here for it. It’s always so hard to say goodbye, but the repitition here adds to the relatability of how we all have to say it eventually. This was well done.
I appreciate your response.