a tilting of air

A man who held the Keys to Heaven
Released the lock in proclamation
That, when in full communion cry,
“Holy, Holy, to God on high!”
How near we are to souls we lost,
Who sing among the heavenly host.

With mourning gates now open wide,
My tears ran free to silence pride.
No finger brushed the tears aside.
No mother’s gentle voice to guide.
They whispered moments on their way,
Of joy, regret, and “wish I may…”.

It snowed the night when time went dark.
My prayers and panic did their work
To shape my thoughts in numbing shock,
Muting tones of brothers’ talk.
A crown of hell pressed thoughts on death,
Our world…in fear…held its breath.

Yet, you…your spirit stretched for flight,
Breaking clay for spacious light.
Weighty chains of worry and woe
Fell hellward, flung from unbound soul.
Two in, two out, we bent and weaved
While you, dear woman, prepared to leave.

Your chuckle absent, no sweet sigh
In turn and prop and “maybe I…”
“Oh dear,” you’d say. “It could be worse,”
And, “My lotion should be in my purse.”
You’d speak of her, your sister gone.
“She had lupus, you know. She died so young.”

Then, two with Keys prayed over you;
One, your husband, faith-full and true.
You took your cue and floated free,
While father kissed you tenderly.
Our Savior welcomed you with grace,
“Well done, my child. You’ve won the race.”

The great I Am embraced His child,
We sang “Amazing Grace” awhile,
And shared some tales through smiles and tears,
Of “when mom would…” and then, “oh dear…”
Our father lauded your forgiving heart.
Will we forget your loving art?

We lifted high the glorious cross.
In careful steps we moved through loss.
At graveside, masks went down with care
For “Jesus Loves Me” and a prayer.
Each took a rose…and some, a glass,
And toasted you upon spring’s grass.

Ah, mother, now your eyes do see
The eternal grace of the Trinity.
Your sweet voice, hallelujahs sing;
With saints and angels, praises bring.
The Sabbath Day just bloomed for me;
Heaven and earth unite for Thee.

So…day-to-day we’ll weave our way,
Our troubled hearts to Him convey.
His victory from cross and grave,
Your heart held fast; your soul is saved.
Can that be mourned? No. God be praised!
Yet, forget you not, ‘til we end our days.