From beneath the surface of burial grounds
can be heard the sounds of restlessness
and it’s like the sand moves underfoot
and topples the stance of permanence.
I buried the past deep down underground
and thought it would lie forever as dead
so I kept a fair distance from the rumble
like one in protection of sanity.
Now far from that initial event
and totally firm in stubborn denial
I listen unnerved and wait perturbed
for an eruption that’s bound to occur.
It’s a question of time; how long can one vow
to remain untouched by past happenings
before the eyes rising and deafening ears
with the cries of needful acknowledgement?
But soon, too soon, the “now” creeps up
and the past sinks back into the sand
not dead but silent and mournfully still
like one on the sidelines of happiness.
And I, the one with shovel and spade,
ponder the merits of unearthing the past
when the past with a will of its own
so adept at moving unaided.
But only a movement and nothing to fear
when the “now” more forceful and overpowering
yet the tremble is felt and footsteps falter
with re-avowals of stubborn denial.
Dig or let lie?