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.