The serviceberries tell me it's time to bury our dead.
The sun has matured the pulp and warmed the soil.
Amazing grace! we lived! Amazing grace! my teeth!
My skin prickles as we dig the graves in my bonnet.
Do not say:
"too soon." The berry bush says just right.
Don't let the holy spirit steal the show.
Get the spade - say the prayers -
the serviceberries say:
"They're going home."
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