Memorial Day

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept this flesh,
this flesh that once breathed
and walked carefree above ye,
little knowing, little knowing.

We have committed much to death,
where we might have planted seeds for peace;
we have committed too many to war,
where flesh has lost to gross weaponry,
and, dear earth, you have lost holy ground,
to the insanity of blood and rubble.

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept this flesh,
accept this sacrifice
we made unknowingly,
and now painfully regret;
please let us consign to you
the body of our honorable servant,
late and lamented, spent
—renew the sanctity of your guest.

Then, allow us to attend to thee,
oh, gentle—oh, most holy earth,
—to tend those wounds
we made in the name of death,

to amend for our grievous sin
against you, against life,
little knowing, little knowing.

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept now this flesh:
a living sacrifice
to life and renewal,
to seeds and growth,
to nature and nurture,
to love and life,
to life loved,
as never life
has ever
been
by us
but, nevertheless,
is
in you.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen