What the Dead Think

by Katherine Riegel

Hope will come welling up

like blood from a cut,


whether you’re ready

with a tissue or not. The shame


you’ve been carrying

like a stone in your shoe


for so long, for years,

will be dislodged. How


do you know? you say.

My mother died still crying


for her parents to love her.

You don’t know everything,


least of all what the dead think.

See that smudge on the horizon,


a cloud of wind and dirt?

Someone is coming


to bring you precisely

what you need.