Samuel, After the Sun Has Gone

Sitting on the good edge of the porch
while dusk leaks into the sky—
the day weighs on me,
the heft of tomorrow on my shoulders,
but for these few moments
to watch the stars poke through.

The evening wind runs through my bones
as though the earth were moaning
like my bones are moaning,
like the dead were crying,
coming out the way the stars show up
when the sun has left—
the stars and the dead with their stories.

See now, there's the pole star
and the big dipper.
There is the lady in her chair,
stories my father told me
and I'll tell Ben later, after harvest.

Soon Cora will come sit by me,
place her hand on my knee—her way
of telling me to come in,
leave the sky to its own troubles.