The Ancestors

The Ancestors

The hosts are hovering
Above my mother’s
Grim and gaping grave
From above her grim and gaping grave
They can hear her smothering
Her footsteps lessoning
And they wave
They don’t say where she’ll be going
Don’t tell us from where they came
The hosts just keep hovering
Above my mother’s grave
Their voices whisper high and calling
Along trails that split the trees
She’s more than ready for this journey
For the grave she dug so deeply
She’ll go gasping, now relenting
To that place she’d always seen
In visions, strong and holy
Of the one she called Mary
In the light at trail’s end
To where she’ll meet the ancestors again