Many famous people are buried in Montmartre Cemetery, just off the Avenue Rachel (pronounced "Ra-shel"). A slightly haunting place with meandering cats, jumbled tombs, and tree-lined paths of dappled shade, it’s an intriguing place to spend an afternoon. As we searched among the graves, I was inspired to write a few lines about the other people buried there, whose tombs I only encountered while seeking out the famous. Maybe one day I will refine this half-formed poem.
The Accidental Visitor
You reproach me, Henriette, Marie, and Jean,
Cold now as your tombs.
You sleep with those renowned or wise,
Your address shared with those whose laurels,
However fine, can never free them from your fate.
But you reproach me, Antoinette, Henri, Eugene,
The accidental visitor to your grave, and well you should.
For I stand here before your tomb—you whom I never knew—
While I neglect the graves of those I loved, whose laughter
echoes still.
They are the ones who held me close,
Or whom I held (the one whose sweet, soft, downy nape I used
to kiss).
If I should have a marker carved with names and dates,
What accidental guest will find my resting place?
Will someone wonder then who once I was, or whom I loved,
Or will he simply pass on by, absorbed in other thoughts?
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| ©Kevin Imper. Published with permission. |
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©Jim Coley. Published with permission.
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