Uncle Demos
Uncle Demos
Uncle Demos
Who were you?
Brother of my great-great-Grandfather Stephen.
I found your grave
in the dark -
I think that was yours.
It says you died 55 years ago.
It was rather serendipitous
that I found your grave…
The cemetery on Cemetary Road -
(yep, they spelled the road wrong)
isn’t marked.
There isn’t even a headstone for you,
just a flat to the ground, overgrown marker
etched with your name -
our name.
The sun had gone down,
it was dark,
when I found your grave marker.
I know so little about you,
just a few facts.
I don’t know why I came here.
This doesn’t add anything
to my understanding of my family history
(or my understanding of me)
or my understanding of you.
Maybe a name
carved in stone
imparts truth
and meaning…
I wonder if decades after
my death
someone will remember me
and wonder
who I was
and want to see
the mark I left behind.
The Grave stone for Demos Whealton
Genealogy – A poem about Family
Genealogy
(This was in the anthology “Simple Vows” put out by St. Andrews Press)
Self history in quest of
self knowledge brought me
today
to this
church cemetery.
A certain history
made visible to me today.
I saw my last name – Whealton -
etched on so many stones…
markers of my heritage…
written here
and here and on a stone next to this one,
and over there, and there and there and
there…
Why were my ancestors put into the ground,
like plants?
From dust thou art -
it says in the bible,
and to dust one must return…
but there is no such thing as death.
I see my ancestors
immortalized on tombstones
with the marker Whealton – the name I share.
Will I live on as well, through
my writing? I wonder.
This road I traveled…
this land I’ve seen
- as I sought to discover this place-
seems too quiet – too deserted…
a town of ghosts, but here
my ghosts tell me nothing.
I imagine I’ve found a ghost town.
Up front, within the church that my
great-great grandfather built
I observe
signs - pictures – of recent visitations.
Names, and faces in picture albums
found inside the doorway…
descendants of those names
on the stones.
What did I come to find?
A place holding clues to my heritage?
or something more,
something I could touch
and see…
a certain hard stone’s proof.
(proof of what?)
Stones that need for nothing,
not sun or food,
nor water
to hold their forms
and their names.
All I found was dust – along
the roads and among the stone markers.
A Whealton Family History
Isn’t it interesting what inspires us to seek out our roots? Our family history… It’s about realizing that we are a part of something larger than ourselves. Does that really matter? I hope it does.
Church built in part by Demos and Stephen Whealton