My father's burial at Arlington Cemetary

A SUN FADES; THE SUN RISES



The air frosted my breath,
Which rose away like a spirit.
I wore four layers and was
As cold as I ever wanted to be.
Then I descended into the gorge
Of the city at Rosslyn.
Soon the subway rollicked away
With me and the somber bureaucrats
Who would not look at one another –
Another scandal, another day.
But I gazed hard, trying
To fathom the city through their tight lips
And averted eyes. The whole city seemed sad,
As if it had never fulfilled its heart’s desire.


I saw through the darkness
Many things which turned
As insubstantial as air
And slipped away like
Dimming lights: Fierce red
Dragon humps became the first
Rush of traffic dammed
By stop lights. Alhambresque
Arches expired into shadows
Formed by pedestrian lamps.
And objects unidentified and flying by
Disintegrated into street lamps
Coursing the curved glass
Through which I took in the city.


I rose again at Brookland-CUA.
Dawn had begun breaking apart
The city into red brick
And black tar and grey concrete
Overcast with a silver-blue veil.
Still cold, still alien.
At the home, old soldiers trooped
By Dad’s open coffin to say
Farewell and cry. An Irish-Catholic
Priest crossed himself, read scripture
And prayed over the protestant remains.


Dad’s hearse took the scenic route
Through Rock Creek Park to Arlington.
Behind him, we rejoiced
In the beauty of the final journey
Through steep hills quilted
With fallen leaves whose father trees
Reached their bare arms to the silver sky
Of mourning. His carriage cruised along
The Potomac, and just before the gate
Beyond the statues of Pegasus,
A V-formation of long-necked geese
Overflew the hearse – silent as angels
Beckoning him follow.

When the hearse stopped at the foot of the hill
Medallioned with white rows of the militant dead,
Soldiers in blue uniforms stepped forward crisply,
Straight and true as my father’s heart.
The coffin marched uphill in their strong hands
And was placed with a view across the river –
Of Lincoln, Jefferson and Washington.


We gathered around, the chill disappearing.
We stood for the crackling salute
Of the rifles and the cadenced "Taps"
Of the bugle. Then the chaplain
Read Father’s favorite passage
Which starts, “For God so loved the world ...”
And ends “... he that doeth truth cometh to the light,
That his deeds may be manifest,
That they are wrought in God.”
The flag was lifted off the coffin,
Folded tight and placed
Into my warming hands.
When I looked up,
The city was immersed in light.

1998

I never venture north from Florida during winter, but I had to when my father died in early January 1998, for he was to be buried in Arlington National Cemetary for his 26 years of service in the military, including World War Two and Korea.  For the first time, I bought a trenchcoat and took my gloves, woolcap, sweaters and muffler to a frosty climate.  The temperature that winter in D.C. was in the 20s at night and high 30s to low 40s during the day.  The day of the funeral was extraordinary for our purpose, and my poem is merely a description with emotional connotations.

My ex-wife's sister Norma let us stay at her place, for which we were very thankful.

Tomorrow is Dad's birthday.

"A Sun Fades; the Sun Rises" was collected in the unpublished An Operose Hierodule of the Muse, 2008.