The Last Visit

Small Cemetery outside of Doolin, Ireland

Without thinking why,

she left the road and decided to go over the fence

through the long, thick, green grass.

It would give her a chance to set her eyes on his gravestone, long before kneeling beside it. 

The narrow, rocky road was beginning to feel like it would never end.

Stopping, she took a deep breath,

as she leaned her hips against the cold, ancient, stone fence.

Layers of dry lichen spread across the rounded pieces of limestone. 

Her hands felt the roughness, as she carefully pushed herself over.

Her creamy, linen dress snagged as if holding her back.

"He won't remember you,"

The whisper slid like ice water down her back.

As she moved slowly away from the fence, she gently rubbed at the tear she noticed on her dress.  

She frowned at herself for not wearing her jeans and sweatshirt.

"He'll remember me," she thought.

Aran Island Coast

She lets her mind drift to the memory of the two of them together.

Exploring the small pools of water by the seashore.

Wading in the water.  She's holding the same dress up with one of her hands, to keep it dry.

Laughing, he splashes her, telling her how beautiful she looks in her dress. 

She opens her eyes and doesn't lose sight of the cross on his grave,

sun bleached and lonely on the hill.

Celtic Cross in Doolin

Leaning over, she pulls off her small gray shoes.

Her toes grab the damp seaweed-like clumps, helping her balance.

Detouring up the hill, she leaves the road in the distance.

Again, she felt an intimidating voice, snarling and biting on her long neck, behind her ears.  

"Why did you come?"

Raining on her face, the tears run down.

His gravestone blurs and she squeezes her eyes shut.

"Please remember me," she says out loud to the endless sky,

"I came to tell you, I love you."

She tripped and fell, catching her foot in a small hole.

Grabbing the thick grass with her hands, 

she pushes her face into the coolness and weeps.

Praying for the earth to swallow her up and bury her with him.

Hours go by before she wakes.

She hears the birds singing and playing beside her.

The small flitting shadows circle around her.

She carefully stands and presses her damp, wrinkled dress with her hands.

Picking up her shoes, she continues on.

Feeling the warm sun on her face.

Gate to Cemetery in Doolin, Ireland

The gate is open, the cemetery still.

Walking in, she leaves her shoes at the opening of the gate.  Side by side.

Slowly, she circles the small chapel to his resting place.

She can feel the small rocks, now and then, with her bare feet.

As she comes around the corner, his grave stands silently waiting for her to finish her walk.

Small Chapel Ruins In Doolin Cemetery

Kneeling down, she puts her head on his gravestone. 

The heavy, weight of missing him seems to fall off her, to the ground.

She drinks in her lost strength from him. 

Slowly, the day ends in a blue, fading light.

Weeks later, the old caretaker finds a little pair of gray shoes sitting by the gate.

The only sign a visitor was there.

He places them in his wooden cart.  Then he unfastens the two goats he brought up there with him, to help keep the grass short.

They immediately start chewing on the long grass.

Humming as he works, he begins to tidy up the old graveyard.