My Favorite Piece: “On the Unmarked Graves in Rose Hill Cemetery”
By: Elizabeth Hannah
From our 2024 issue of Tributaries, the piece I most enjoyed is “On the Unmarked Graves in Rose Hill Cemetery” by Bee Brown-Sparks. This poem is a beautiful and poignant reflection on loss, and the connections we maintain with loved ones after they’re gone. Between the imagery and reflections on a loved one’s passing, there are undercurrents to more social commentary that leave more questions than answers. Why did no one water her grandfather’s sunflowers after his passing? Why throw seeds at concrete rather than dirt? Who is the poet who “put down roots & grew & grew an orchard?” These unanswered questions make the poem more intriguing and interesting.
The images in this poem are vivid. The line about the sunflowers still reaching for the sky after the grandpa’s passing is particularly striking:
still their heads faced up
almost confiding in the sky
really leaning into it.”
These vivid details are distinctive, unique and clearly depicted. The imagery of the grandpa’s garden is vivid and nostalgic, filled with imagery like:
with a blackberry bush & a rabbit
that kept eating his tomatoes
So he fed the whole family stew with fresh basil
& coriander—laughed when we asked about the gaminess
I also appreciated how the poem captures the act of remembering and nurturing, transforming grief into something creative and hopeful. The juxtaposition of the cracked concrete with the act of planting seeds symbolizes the possibility of growth and renewal, even in difficult circumstances. Overall, the poem resonates with a profound sense of connection to family and the impact of death, making it both heartfelt and uplifting.
On the Unmarked Graves in Rose Hill Cemetery
BEE BROWN-SPARKS
My grandpa had a garden
with a blackberry bush & a rabbit
that kept eating his tomatoes
So he fed the whole family stew with fresh basil
& coriander—laughed when we asked about the gaminess
Said
it would make your hare
stand on end
After my grandpa
died, no one
watered his sunflowers
Still, their heads faced up
almost confiding in the sky
really leaning into it
& we couldn’t afford a headstone in our town
so we tried to start a garden
on our patio
throwing seeds at cracked concrete
only for a hummingbird to hover over
we knew nothing of
digging into the earth
but not far from our family home
a poet put down roots
& grew & grew an orchard
some years later I would visit
& so I learned to pick
plums off a tree on my street
so sweet
that, if you closed your
eyes, they would almost taste
like Louisiana sugarcane
