I was walking in a bookstore when the phrase, “we always believed that she could fly” came into my mind, loudly.  That night, a poem arose.  The details are from my mother’s memorial….

detail of weathered tombstone, barnett, VT

chilidish things 

we stood in a circle about the grave

some read poems and some

chose silence. the funeral director

placed her ashes into the hole

while redwing blackbirds sang

in the fields. we always assumed

that she could fly, but then we

were only children, eager to cling

to childish things

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