On Dan's Path Poem by Daniel Brick

5 October 2015

I was walking through Salem Hill Park,
as I do everyday, but I chose a new path,
down a lane of sumac beckoning me
with its new autumn red attire. A plaque
pounded into an aspen tree overlooking
the lower path caught my eye. DAN'S PATH
the inscription said, and an arrow pointed
left, the way I was heading. In smaller print
the dates of his birth and death were carved.
Only thirty years old when he passed
from their presence to whom he was
a friend or a lover or a brother,
so many possibilities but only one fate.
I imagine a circle of friends witnessed
his burial, said their final good-byes,
and decided upon this memorial path.
And on a day perhaps much like today
they assembled in the woods, chose
thetree above the sumac lane, and
stood in silence as the plaque was
pounded into place. Sheets of sunlight
cascaded over them as they said a second
final good-bye. And then it was over,
and they dispersed. But one mourner
lingered alone under the tree's shade,
staring at the plaque, and occasionally
at the path below. I wonder about your
silence at the edge of speech. What is it
you want to say? I am listening...
Do you want to say Dan is in God's Heaven
with Jesus and the Saints. I will bow my head
prayerfully. Or perhaps you think death
is the final end, and Dan now lives only
in your memory, forever thirty, virile
and healthy, full of more life than thirty
years could use up. If this is what you say,
I will applaud the strength of your memory.
Still you may believe there is an immense cavern
in which all of our dead sleep, holding hands and
slipping in and out of each other's dreams.
And no one can disturb their delight so perfect
is this sleep across eternity. If this is what
you say, I will share your smile, and we will
briefly join hands. Whatever you want to say,
whatever you need to say, say it...
I am listening still.