When I am ready to bury you…

by DRM

Early Win­ter Morning

When I am ready to bury you
I want the weather to cooperate.

That would be a sign of god’s grace.

I don’t want to be stand­ing by the open grave
In a dri­ving rain,
The umbrella flut­ter­ing queru­lously over­head;
Or star­ing at the crys­tals of a deep frost
Bound to the irreg­u­lar clods of earth
That peek out from the edge of the blue tarp
Cov­er­ing the pile that will
Be shoved on top of you by the earth mover
Cau­tiously con­cealed up the hill.

I espe­cially don’t want a bliz­zard to hit
On the day l am ready bury you,
When you died too soon
And I’m ask­ing God why he took you
And our chil­dren are look­ing at me, stunned,
And the pas­tor calls at eight in the morn­ing
Choos­ing his words carefully.