Seaside Cemetery

“For there comes neither night nor day.

Unripe harvest there hath none to reap it

From the watery misty place;

Unripe vineyard there hath none to keep it

In unprofitable space.

Living flocks and herds are nowhere found there;

Only ghosts in flocks and shoals: Indistinguished hazy ghosts surround there…”

“Hello? Excuse me!”

There’s a woman. She approaches me. I sit atop my stone step leading towards my grave. I turn to her from my book.

She approaches me. With a wide smile that blinds my senses, she takes a hesitant step forward. “I’ve lost my way, and I’m not sure where to go. Can you help me?”

“Where do you belong?” I ask.

“Somewhere in hell, maybe,” she laughingly jokes. She scratches the back of her head, slightly ruffling her long black hair. “I don’t seem to be in the best place. I lost my mom along the way.”

That happens. “Seek the gateway of the cemetery. You’ll find your way there soon.”

She turns behind her. Her long black dress turns with her. Then, she returns her focus to me. “Thank you so much!” The bundle of sunshine wearing with black clothing disappears down the misty aisle. She passes through the gateway.

I return to my book.

Time passes. Sunrise. Sunset. I’m left to my book once more.

Meteors whirling on their poles;

Indistinguished hazy ghosts abound there;

Troops, yea swarms, of dead men’s souls. –

“Oh wow, it’s you again. Hello!”

The woman is here again. This time, she wears dark pants and a strange pink corset shirt with see-through sleeves. Her hair is in ringlets bouncing past her shoulders. She is a stunning creature. She holds red, purple, and golden sunflowers that rest on her forearm.

I close my book and smile at her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is this your favorite reading spot?” This time, she approaches with less hesitancy.

She smells of lilacs and nature. Her eyes are pretty black, just like mine. “Yes, it is.” I ask, “What brings you to this end of the cemetery?”

“My mother passed three months ago to the day.” She lightly lifts up the bundle. “Her favorite florae were sunflowers.” With downcast eyes, she confesses, “I figured I’d visit her and drop these off.”

I smile. “That’s very pleasing to hear. I’m sure she’s grateful to you.”

“I think so, too.” With a rejuvenated smile, the woman bounces. “Well, please don’t let me interrupt your reading. Have a great day.”

The woman abandons me, returning me to my leftover place of sanctuary.

Have they towns to live in? –

They have towers and towns from sea to sea;

Of each town the gates are seven;

Of one of these each ghost is free:

They are ghastly men those ghostly freemen:

“Hello again.”

Such a sight may you not see. –

The woman returns. This time, her hair is a lot longer, as dark as the night sky, and just as bright as the horizon on the shoreline. She has a wicker basket hooked on her arm. Hugging her body is a pretty lavender dress that accentuated her round hips and plump torso. There’s a thick blue necklace hanging on her slender neck, and a new ring on her marriage finger. Something about that rattles an emotion in me I haven’t felt in a long time.

“You look stunning, friend.”

She laughs. “Thank you, friend.” She presents her hand to my side. “May I join you?” She lifts her basket. “I have treats.”

The woman brings herself to my left side. I am unmoving. There’s more than enough space upon my stone seating to share with her. Her lilac and nature scent intensify. I haven’t used these senses for some time. She awakens a sleeping creature in me, one that peaks every moment she speaks. “Would you like some bread?”

“I can’t eat but thank you.”

“Ah. Gluten sensitive then? I’m sorry. I was inconsiderate.”

“You’re quite the opposite.”

I’m not sure when I put my book down, and I’m not sure if I ever picked it back up again. The woman, Ran, shares many stories with me. Time never passes for me, and yet Ran presents a shine to my days that time is jealous of. We share our tales with each other as we watch the sea below. From our viewpoint, we have a clear view of the port town below, the lonely beaches, and countless wildlife that thanks its appreciative humans with views of its boundless pleasure. The passed souls here are quiet, ever so silent when Ran appears. They leave me be, leaving us to our shared time together, time that Ran blesses me with every time she nears.

“What’s your name?” She asks me this after we spent countless days together.

“Smierc,” I answer as I point to the name on the headstone to my right.

“Ah,” she knowingly says, “I figured. Is that a family name? You always sit here, on this stone. I figured your family was buried here.”

“Yes, they are.” I smile.

She asks me nothing else. Ran leaves, returns. Leaves, returns. The souls rummaging through scurry about and help each other while also seeking information about our constant guest. I tell them nothing. Instead, I read my book again and again.

How know you that your lover

Of death’s tideless waters stoop to drink? –

Me by night doth mouldy darkness cover,

It makes me quake to think:

All night long I feel his presence hover

Thro’ the darkness black as ink.

I’m not sure when I started caring about time. Maybe it’s the first time I noticed a wrinkle beside Ran’s cheek, or when she started complaining about her knees. Maybe it’s when she confessed her marriage wasn’t going well or when she arrived here crying, begging for reprieve that I could not give. This woman who never asked for hugs or forgiveness remained with me throughout all of time. Her hair turned gray, and she wore them shamelessly, smiling all the way. The clothes adorning her body are still colorful, eccentric, and very fitting for her. She never mentioned children, but she thanked me during almost every meeting.

“Do you believe in lifelong love, Smierc?”

“Since the first sun ever shone on the horizon, yes.” I turn to her. “Do you?”

She smiles at me, her white plastic teeth exposed, the wrinkles and moles on her face stretching as she moves, “Yes, I do.”

The next time I see Ran, she is young and youthful again, wearing the same black dress she wore when we first met. For the first time in a long while, I stood. “Hello, my Ran.”

Tears stream down her face. Those same knowing eyes lovingly gaze into mine. The emotions that hadn’t existed for so long pushed to the surface. Water began to stream down my cheeks as well. “I knew it.”

I give her my hand. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” she lovingly takes my hand. “Forever.”

To stalk forth in my sleep:

If I wake, he hunts me like a nightmare;

I feel my hair stand up, my body creep:

Without light I see a blasting sight there,

See a secret I must keep.

Poem: “A Coast Nightmare” by Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894)