The official directions were to park the car along the gravel road, hike a mile down the railroad tracks, and climb the hill out of the right-of-way into the farm pasture. There was the pioneer cemetery. There was my great-great-great grandfather, John Bishop, his headstone a tangible artifact of his existence.
ancestor’s old bones
lying beneath summer grass
This is my offering for d’Verse Poets Haibun Monday.