ends in screams of silent tears
for those that are going
and those that have gone.

They once ran through lands
of meadows and streams
tricking teachers into believing they were deathly ill
just so they could go fishing on a sunny afternoon.

He was drafted
leaving her behind
hoping to return with more than a box
to call his own.

They got married
without a proposal
knowing it would
“just happen.”

Together they raised
a girl and a boy
and soon they had children
of their own.

I followed them
like a newborn calf
follows its mother

riding in the combine
running through fields
sitting patiently on ten-gallon buckets
waiting for the bobber to be submerged.

Tonight I, their granddaughter, scream silent tears
because
she is going and
he is gone.