Raining September
Water rising, bridges swallowed

We entomb Dad in the damp earth
Muddy rain, rectangle in the ground

Funeral home, bluegrass from tinny speakers
Bill Monroe, Footprints in the Snow:  “…She’s with the angel band…”

Shaking hands and blurry faces

Raining September
The Racoon Creek rises, squeezes
squeezes the in-law’s cabin

Wet hugs

The path in cannot be the path out
roads closed
We take the backway home

I knew and did not know the man we buried
Pictures of him around the casket, young and old

Mom brought the pictures
No one takes pictures at a funeral

On a raining September