IX. Ticonderoga Cemetery
When you are lying safe beneath me
I rest my face on the earth to
feel the grassy whisper.
Then I’m sure you are listening
so I press play to let you hear
the new Wilco album on our mother’s
boom box which I found
in the attic of the farmhouse,
red against the sky blue sky.
Afterwards I reassure you that
love and music can save the world
so you can get back to things people do
when their shoulders don’t cry so loud,
their eyes aren’t pink without sleep,
and their stomachs aren’t always consuming.
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