‘Keep Moving through the Graveyard.’

Grave pandemic exercise, from my pandemic journal, on this day in 2020.

Keep moving through the graveyard

no, no time to stop

keep moving

you’re only allowed to be out here

exercising

not meandering.

No wondering about the nine month old

and a four day old child

the girl dead at 12

a boy drowned at 18

the soldiers killed in war

the sunken graves

the unmarked stones.

Keep moving through the graveyard

don’t meander

that’s not allowed

–in this time of pandemic–

to stop and contemplate

what day it is

what life is

what’s taken from us

what’s left.

Stay at home.

If I was stopped now I’d have to say

‘I was out exercising.’

My mind is exercised

unbound by plots

and the cemetery gates,

free-ranging beyond the limits,

imposed.

I’m not allowed to stop and read,

to reflect

Only meant to be exercising,

essentially.

Is this essential?

I’m not paying homage to anybody

apart from the fact that they lived and died

in a period with people dying

all around the world.

One headstone says

she was

‘the first white girl

born in Queenscliff.’

Her name was Anny.

Her death was in 1853,

the year the ship went down,

washing my ancestor to shore not far from here.

Anyway, Anny.

I’m an Annie.

Your busted grave feels like

a basking place.

Peace to all who rest here and around the world.

For those who stay

at home.

In the ground.

And in the soils of this seaside town.

Written on the unceded lands of the WATHAURONG people.