Grandmother's Funeral

How the casket gleams
At this shiny funeral
In full sun

With your small laughs
With the birds who know your name

Above the morning pall, you fly
Beyond this tree
Of relatives who assemble here

A burst of sun drives the rain
From the atmosphere

It's high time, Grandmother
To hear your sparrow's tongue

In the afternoon
You rustle the flowers of my plate.

I spy your eye in my napkin ring

With your small laughs
With the birds who know your name

Your wings sweep past the parlor door
And dust the air between
Soul and brain
What better fate than yours
To be clean adroitly

Grandmother, my dreams are made of less and less
They simplify...with time

Then evening rushes darkly
About the sky and farm
Lighting lamps and in the barn

Hurrying ghostly horses

With your small laughs
With the birds who know your name

The chords of sleep make music
...of creaking wheels and slapping reins

Who would ever shoo you?
The scarecrow wears a beaming face
And swears that joy lies in the haunting
-- with your small laughs
-- with the birds who who know your name

And for you, old Wren
That's true, as rain.

(c)Robert P. Arthur                         2006

from Vijas War and Other Poems

San Francisco Bay Press

San Francisco, CA