N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  1  1

INGRID SWANBERG


liberty

        for Marian

I put on my red hat

and went up on the hill

among the dead

so early in spring

whole limbs flung down

by the hard winter

still lay askew on the graves

awaiting the caretaker’s hand


the earth was soft

beneath the fragile turf


as I read the names of soldiers and wars

from a few stones cresting the green,

a marching song

drifted so faintly in the air

I thought I dreamed