Transplanted Buckeye

From page 14 of the November, 2006 issue of "First Things."

The Dead Are With Us
by Gwen Hart


The dead are with us when they sing.
Though we can't see them anymore,
they sing in very little things.

They sing in clinking wedding rings,
in zippers of the clothes they wore.
The dead are with us. When they sing,

we hear their teaspoons jangling
in the corners of our kitchen drawers.
They sing in all the little things.

Their voices are not sparkling,
not melodious or pure,
but they are with us when they sing,

and we prefer that--anything!--
to silence, to the words no more.
We look for every little thing,

each pocket, box we can explore.
We feel them with us when they sing,
and that is not a little thing.