SHIFTING SAND

He went straight to heaven,

that’s what the priest said

at his funeral,

there is nothing else to be said

when a boy of ten is gone,

I was home that day

when he passed away,

only four,

too young to know about death,

yet, sharply tuned,

like our old piano,

to the hurried steps,

the rush to get help,

my father’s tears

as he carried him

out the door,

it was already too late,

I could tell at four

by the faces,

there were no more traces of hope

for my brother,

it nearly killed my mother

who had done all she could

to help his ailing body heal,

and yet, in a twist of fate,

she carried new life

in her womb that day,

death and life

shifting like sand

beneath our feet

never sure of the tide

or its direction.