'Treleigh Churchyard' & 'Angelus Domini'
Poetry
by Samuel Bridge
Treleigh Churchyard
The oak coffin cradles the body
and prepares it for planting.
It takes an hour to prepare, fit and set
like a cot for a full-grown man.
The bereaved have placed cards
and photographs with their loved one.
October rain creeps inside my stiff collar
as my polished shoes press into the soil.
Umbilical straps lower the box
and the brass handles disappear from sight.
It is morning all day,
it is cloudy,
we huddle around the earths open wound
and it is cold.
Angelus Domini
You used to pray the rosary
as if placing stones
over a purgatorial river.
Hail Mary, full of grace.
Some where thrown with defiant confidence
while others were placed more precariously,
wobbling in the downward stream.
Blessed art though among women.
Sometimes it felt like your mouth
was full of pebbles, spitting them out
one by one, uneven and mismatched
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
You thumb would trace its way
over the beads, faintly clicking
for each decade until they ran out.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
and you’d close your eyes
to see the path you’d prayed out
for yourself, pray for us sinners now
and in the hour of our death.
About the Author
Until 2019, Samuel Bridge worked as a Funeral Director in his native Cornwall. His poetry has previously been featured in The North, The Interpreter’s House, and Ink Sweat & Tears. Find him on Instagram.