Gerard Rochford

Jesus Turns In His Grave
‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28.’
Behind the altar there is a scar on the wall,
a bricked up entrance revealed beneath a lintel.
In the graveyard lives lie scattered, engraved on stones,
flashy monuments, some with iron railings.
Rabbits graze – no wild flowers grow.
Soldiers, fishermen, couples, husbands, lairds.
Sarah – aged 2, from typhoid.
But outside the consecrated ground I search
for the suicide’s unmarked grave.
I find it there in the unkempt grass,
a heave of earth just visible,
as if even now he tries to rise
from beneath the heaviness of living.

Copyright © Gerard Rochford 2018

About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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1 Response to Gerard Rochford

  1. Ah the grave. I go to visit my wife’s grave often. It is a leveller of us all. I wanted a stone for Gill. I have roses, thoguh the boys just wanted a tree with no names

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