September 22, 2005

To the air in the lung...

My mom would have been 65 today. Doesn't seem like that much to ask, does it? I included this in her memorial service and it killed, so to speak. Still the best poem to read at your mom's funeral, evah.

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Jane Kenyon

Posted by krudman at September 22, 2005 01:45 PM | TrackBack
Post a comment

Remember personal info?