For Those Who Mourn

By Paul Buckingham

Just one of those quiet, aged sisters

Who touched your soul with her smile;

Slowly, unpretentiously she moved about

Keeping commandments,

Attending,

Serving.

She is

Someone’s daughter,

Someone’s mother,

Someone’s wife,

Now a widow,

Dead.

And few notice her passing.

There is no crowded chapel,

No rippled shock of grief

Through generations of humanity—

Just a quiet, undecorated,

Mildly celebrated

Death.

Her obituary notice falls

In yesterday’s

Trash,

The funeral flowers wilt and

Dry.

But in the

Heart of heaven

There are kisses on her cheek,

Embraces,

For a cherished spirit has returned,

A prized daughter is crowned,

Glorified.

And I suspect it was such a

Quiet death

Because we could not hear the

Celebration of her

Arrival.

“Antelope Island,” by Dennis Phillips