Predecessors
Bob Rashkow
The smooth tiles shudder
under my careful, slow step
through the quiet twilight
each grey or beige square
sends markers of existence
names, dates, speaking of those who
dwelled here before
and served their time,
fought the good fight all they could
They adorn my walk
with their dormant, solemn souls,
sharing hundreds of lives
Elsewhere, still more
I hear my name mentioned
Faint as the crackling leaves
that madly conspire
to hide these brick documents
They whisper it again.
I call and respond
I’ll join you soon, my friends.