Grass fills the hills as well as rising grey tombstones all scattered through 18 acres. The sun has set and the sky hovers over Cypress Hills Cemetery with a midnight-blue hue. The tombstones stand still row-by-row, separated by a small grey road. Eighteen acres guarded by a dark, gloomy, green gate.
Some tombstones lie close to the pavement… abandoned, lonely and nearly forgotten. “In loving memory,” “Beloved mother,” “She was the sunshine of our home” engraved on these cold grey empty remembrances. Other stones drown in artificial flowers, helplessly lying there in hopes of creating a better feel for visitors.
Scattered barks are embedded in the grass, the only live embrace left. Trees everywhere filling up the empty spaces not taken by the tombstones. Some tall and strong, others weak and weary, hiding eerie 19th century statues. Visitors quietly stroll through the hills in search of their dearly departed. Their faces still… mouths closed and eyes deep. Bodies move anxiously with their arms crossed looking over a once-breathing life.
It’s as if life slows down in a cemetery as memories race through the mind. Visitors stand or kneel in a daze, not saying much to one another. All weary, filled with sorrow and grief. All through these hills lie hearts that stopped beating.
Employees watch over the cemetery driving through casually, not minding pedestrians and seeming detached from the environment. They look droopy, stiff, overworked. The hills create a spooky feel, never-ending. The rusty dark green gates have years on them, rusty and peeling with an underlayer of brown.
The midnight blue sky can be calming when the world gets quiet, the streets empty, and life slows down. But up against the lives that once lived, hearts that once beat and breaths that were once taken, the beautiful blue sky stands no chance. Tons of hearts left broken live here, forever irreplaceable. The tears these gates have seen and the knees imprinted on the grass will forever drown the deep, beautiful, blue sky.
If it weren’t for the screeching J train nearby or the cars on Jamaica Avenue, the cemetery would feel like a suburb: Isolated, secluded from commerce and street life.
The cold tombstones stand restless through the day and all night. As we sleep they stand sturdy in a dark lonely place with bravery and courage to take loved ones to a different realm. Holding on tight to the power of grief and forever provoking sorrow, but protecting a heart that may always be loved. To our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and children… may you rest in peace.
