Concerning Death and Love

It was 20 years ago today that I watched a young woman get killed. It was late, and cold. My boyfriend, his sister, and I were driving to a nearby town on the interstate. I saw the lights spin ahead of us, then a blossom of red taillights.

We managed to pull to the side and stop and in the headlights I saw a pickup on its side, clothes and boxes strewn everywhere, and a girl laying across the middle of the interstate. One knee was up and an arm was moving to her head. I tried to open the door, thinking only about going to help her, but my boyfriend pulled me back and a car flew past within a few feet of my door.


The Old Farmers Know

This poem was written for my grandpa’s funeral. He was like a father to me, and always supported everything I did. I wanted to give him something special to send him on. <3

The old farmers know.

When to harvest the crop;
when to bring in the cattle.
They know how much farther
the horse can pull the plow.
They know how much longer
the sun will light their work.

They know when to pull a calf
and when to put one down.
They rise with the sun
and set with it.
They see life begin
and they see it end.

The old farmers know.

They know when they’ve
lived a good life.
They know when they’ve
left a good legacy.
When they’ve worked hard
and when they’ve loved harder.

And the old farmers know
when to go home.

They know when they’re ready
and when to let go.
They know we’ll be alright;
we’ll make it on our own.
And when the Lord beckons them
and the earth welcomes them
the old farmers know.