‘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.