Someone is Dying

Someone is dying. In the fields. In the farmhouse.

Past the town line.

Out where the sky is wide and billowing clouds stack up to Heaven.

Someone’s wife sits in a chair next to the bed, worried.

Someone’s husband stands in the kitchen.

Someone is dying and folks are up all night

tending, wiping, soothing, administering.

Checking.

Like those first few days the baby’s home from the hospital,

No one sleeps. Neighbors bring food.

Family members take shifts sitting close by, holding a hand.

The work of leaving this world and the work of entering it is tiring and relentless.

Someone is dying. In the fields. In the farmhouse.

A season ending. A big sky open.

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