The Mourner

Donald W. Baker

No leaf over the pit
but a deep sky
ruffled by a white gull

  You would have loved
 the silence

Short parade, short prayer
and a tall priest
alone at the grave's head

 You would have scorned
 more

At my cousin's house
whiskey and words
and sudden voicelessness

 You would have talked
 us under the table

Later, in a box
of drunkenness
I lower myself to bed

 and in black sleep
 show you the snapshots

the sun through your pines
high tide in the river
quail around the feeder

 You would have chosen
 the children