The Graveyard

Devin Murphy

The graveyard crossed the street

the year of my father’s stroke.

The village knocked down the caretaker’s house

to make room for the newly dead.

I flew in and pushed him outside

in the wheelchair. We made morbid jokes

about the headstones sprouting roots

pushing under the road, tapping

on the crumbling foundation of his home

which will be for sale soon

a year

two years.

Years ago when he held me as a baby

in the this house

me crying all night like a machine

the boneyard must have meant so much less

but now

it buds

between us

in silence.


Devin MurphyDevin Murphy‘s recent fiction appears in The Chicago Tribune, Glimmer Train, and The Missouri Review, The Michigan Quarterly Review, and New Stories From the Midwest, as well as many others.  His poems have begun finding their way into print as well. He is an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Bradley University.