Woman who rode a motorcycle.
Who brought her children
Camping in thunderstorms
Where the wind and rain clapped
Against their tent sheets.
Your memorial service is over.
Coffin in the ground.

Woman who read a book every week,
Who introduced her children to Holes.
Grandmother stopped praying the rosary.
What’s left of you is in boxes now.
Only certain pictures remain.
Through the bass ponds
Rivers rose and drowned the lilly pads.
You wore that dress,
Water up to your knees.

You’re dead, but
The storm front
Reincarnated you as a
Cardinal.
No heaven.
But paradise.

Perched, watching
Your young listen
For bats at dusk.
Imagining they had
A story to tell.