in the/ irish hills

in the
irish hills it rained
we gathered your great grandmother's
rocking chair
small raindrops fell
even a bit on the wood  
or like on us
when you placed flowers on graves
beneath a leafless tree

by the big cross 

with nothing to anchor us

the mind begins to look everywhere

at everything 

because we are strange

yet also family here

as your grief flowed 

we drove home

saw a few flecks of 

snow by those pillars

of rock like giants 

or the people we loved

and memory grasped them

in the forests all around them

then when the grey seemed eternal

the sky lifted and showed

blue purple and yellow

then gold 

*

for deborah