You might die on a Tuesday
Under August’s sun
At summer’s blurry end.
Marching time would kick-up the dust and
We’d remember it was warm
That day when the phone rang –
Sweaty hands –
Light on the floor beneath our feet.
We’d forget the day like words that
Sting then fly away.
Or, you could die on Thanksgiving Morning
Your place already set
At the table near rolls still rising.
Everyone gathered for the feast to come
With grateful hearts
Plates high with hope
We’d cheer for Resurrection
Savor life more slowly this time
Listen to the children playing castles of deliverance
Brides pursued and rescued home and welcomed to the banquet.
9/15/1922 – 11/24/2011