;
Elegy for a Stranger
I found the kid’s headstone during our spring
cleaning of the cemetery. The name
was not one that I knew, but just the same,
I stood there as the clouds rolled in, staring
at the dates. I figured out the poor thing
was only eight years old. God, what a shame
to die so young. Soon after, the rain came.
Fat, angry drops began to pelt and sting
my skin. Still I stayed, as the others fled
with plastic bags over their heads. They flew,
flapping like bats, while I stayed by the stone
in the chilling drizzle, beside the dead.
No, I didn’t know him; I only knew
I could not leave him in the rain alone
;
James A. Clark is a long-time resident of Nacogdoches, Texas, where he tries-and sometimes fails-to balance his time between family responsibilities, his education, and his writing. He’s been a shifty-eyed car salesman, a slouchy convenience store clerk, a sawmill hand and, for a few minutes, a telemarketer. Through it all, though, the single constant thread has always been the act of putting words on paper.
;
If you would like to submit your work to Psaltery & Lyre, please check out the P&L Submissions Page.