When You Died
Although you were dead after ten days,
you went to the church not far from your farm.
Although not Christian, you knelt in the pew.
The one with red plush carpet to protect
old knees from feeling Penance. You prayed
like a bowl needing to empty its self.
You could hear the wagon nearing. The one
drawn by horses you could not see.
You were praying like falling apples
and a goat was nibbling the worst of them.
Although you could not see the horses,
you could tell how their hooves
clicked on the groves of the ground
following the same trail it always had
with the same purpose
of sending its contents to a final resting place
where death had no control anymore.
You could hear the small colt alongside
its mother, following instinct, like farming
the same crops and falling into more debt.
You could hear inside the wagon,
your own coffin shifting side to side.
It was then you had a type of belief.