5.1.12.TW
 
We buried grandma from the nursing home,
where, after years of cooking and compliance
she was the life of the party 2 short years,
shouting words we didn’t think she knew.
The most outrageous in that foreign place.
 
On the road to the old graveyard
bright prayer flags of washing
snapped in the wind. Women in gardens
gathered summer in baskets, a child
waved from a tire swing.
 
The traffic stopped both ways,
pickups, vans, funeral cars,
as sandhill cranes, queer, stilted mourners
stalked in a stately line,
across the road to cattails in the marsh.
 
On her stone was written;
“Master, where dwellest Thou ?”
and Jesus answered, “Come and see.”
The sand cranes rose, flew upward.
Wings filled the air with humming.
 

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