Burdens
A field blanketed in
cumulonimbus.
by Arianne Berryer
The dewy soil mounds between
graves.
One man alone drags his shovel
to the final plot.
He is old and sore,
relentlessly carrying out his duty.
Kneeling in stiff denim work
pants, he sweeps the dirt with gardening gloves, narrow enough for a young
girl, about twelve.
Approving the size of the
eternal bed, he pulls his wife’s bandana from his back pocket to wipe his brow
and neck. The visible humidity slaps his
pride as if saying you’re not strong enough.
His head turns toward the child
laying face down near his boots, moldering on the grass.
Tufts of her golden hair flip
to and fro with the wind.
Beyond the distant hills,
thunder rumbles.
The man hunches and stands
slowly at the sound above.
Heavy breaths roll over cracked
lips.
He stabs his shovel into the
ground once and folds his hands over the top, pulling his face toward the earl grey
sky. Thin eyelids fold.
This man is the last man on
Earth.
He is burdened with the world’s
final occupation… Gravedigger.
The clouds open.
Raindrops stream down his
wrinkled forehead and bead, like the tears of God.
by Arianne Berryer
Such an apt warning in these days of planet-abuse. Beautifully written and moving. Thank you.
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