Three Poems – Kathleen Radigan

 
Mourners

Susannah says, When
a sheep decides it’s time
to die, it’s time.

The flock swats flies.
Prays for elegant ascent.
You’ll dot the sky.
Insomniacs will count you.

If death’s a water bed between worlds,
wade to the other trough.
Rise over fence-blades seared with sun.
Bray in a field of animal light.
Wind-hoofed, weightless.

When Earth goes belly up,
does soul cleave from body and balloon
over the roof where roses climb walls?