She went to sleep in Jesus,
took with her the flowers
handed by the men
who married her sisters
and the linen
she would wring
in boiling water
both sides of the  stain.

She went to sleep in Jesus,
as each voice she heard
echoed to the rejoicing spirit
who neatly wrapped her in dirt
without ever seeing her face,
or ever quite remembering her name.


Phil Bowen





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