Listen!
MABLE MCKIBBEN RENSBERGER grandmother of underground places your child's hands kept putting flowers out till every face you knew best was looking up at you from a clay house cookie hands garden hands sharp tongue no more every apron hung up for good every pair of black shoes that ever stepped over your grave on the way to another's worn away from where you look up the sky is deep and the wind sweeps across the flat acres while all around you the ones you kept track of flowerwise are thankful and memorious