What the Dead Think
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.