By Devinne Melecki

Some days, it feels like I spend more time with the dead than the living. In graduate school, I discovered the serenity of reading in a tree-lined cemetery near my New England apartment. Although old, weathered markers sprout from the earth like crooked teeth, this green space feels much like a park, except my companions are quieter. A former city dweller, I left high-rises craving connection to green pastures. I wouldn’t have imagined it like this, afternoons among the graves, but I suddenly felt rich with land.

I decided to explore. At first, I kept to the path. When I strayed toward the graves, there was a voice in my head, sternly warning: “Stay away from them!” I reasoned back, “The bodies are decomposed. It’s just dirt.” But the voice didn’t quiet, introducing another concern: disrespecting their spirits. In our kitchen over burritos, it was my roommate who finally assuaged the thought: “Don’t you think they’d like some company?” Read more ->