On Sunday’s I’m posting poetry written by my mother-in-law, Bettie Lou. Writing poetry was a form of therapy after losing her husband and then her youngest son in 1985.
H.M. Went Up There
(H.M. ended eighty-five years of useful life August 2, 1991.)
H. M. died today. “He went to sleep, “ they said.
“I’ll wait,” the grandchild said, “til Granddaddy wakes.”
“Granddaddy passed,” they said.
“Passed where?” the grandchild said.
He passed away.
Granddaddy died today. That’s what they meant to say.
Granddaddy’s body is here. His Spirit went up there.
His Spirit went up where? His Spirit went up there.
Oh, well, who really cares? Granddaddy died today.
They brought the food. They said their prayers.
They passed the time before the day.
The day came. The church was hot.
I sang the songs – some did not.
I listened to the words. “Farther along, we’ll know all about it.
Farther along we’ll understand why.”
What is there to understand?
H.M. had a good life.
He died at eighty-five.
He had an appointment.
He went up there.