Her face like prairie earth
Deep scored and then abandoned
She wavered at the lip of undulating rug
I have a present yet to wrap she sighed
Green paper spread in invitation
Like the cloth at her once mighty table.
Moved and yet unmoved I smiled and kissed her brow
Knowing I must not carry
One more piece of that inheritance
Some few treasures of our imperfection
May be welcome to those who follow after
But mostly we must grieve and then let go.
Penguin Poems 