How Little Lasts

Phebe Messenger was underground when I found her, just a footstone sticking shy to suggest a headstone hiding. Initialled with P.A.M. – not the first time one of those little nubs led me to another. Placed six feet apart, the fashion in those days, making sure the ends of a body were somehow told together. She's the oldest I've found here, dating back to 1838, only twenty-five years at her death. Quick and common losses, more than the men, more reasons to leave early as a victim of birth. Lot of young ladies in the earth I've found, sharp surrenders with all that early hope intact. No way to go again, all the fight in the world is yours to lose. Limestone markers could be good mirrors for the missing. They start out white and almost flawless, are easily tarnished, and the porous stone is apt to snapping. A careless trip or fallen branch will do it. They're my best reminders how little lasts – and a lesson for making more with what I've got.

 

April 14, 2022

Bruce Burial Ground

Centrelea, Nova Scotia

 

facebook | instagram | tumblr | youtube | etsy

 

You can support my work

get things in the mail

and see everything

first on Patreon

Done