First Morning by Joy Harjo

This is the first morning we are without you on earth.

The sun greeted us after a week of rain

In your eastern green and mountain homelands.

Plants are fed, the river restored, and you have been woven

into a path of embracing stars of all colors

Now free of the suffering that shapes us here.

We all learn to let go, like learning to walk

When we first arrive here.

All those you thought you lost now circle you

And you are free of pain and heartbreak.

Don’t look back, keep going.

We will carry your memory here, until we join you

In just a little while, in one blink of star time.

Goldfinches by Danusha Laméris

Good luck, they say,
to see one,
its face and breast
pure citrus
against the grey sky.

And today,
I am twice blessed
because two such birds
grace the low boughs
of the persimmon,
eating the soft heart
of winter's fruit—

though they will also
feast on thistles 
pulled from the dry flowers 
and so are said
to eat the thorns 
of Christ's crown, 
to lift some small measure 
of his suffering.

Whatever your grief,
however long you've carried it—
may something
come to you,
quick and unexpected,
whisk away
the bristled edge 
in its sharp
and tender beak.

If I Carry My Father by Marjorie Saiser

I hope it is a little more
than color of hair
or the dimple or cheekbones
if he's ever here in the space I inhabit
the room I walk in
the boundaries and peripheries
I hope it's some kindness he believed in
living on in cell or bone
maybe some word or action
will float close to the surface
within my reach
some good will rise when I need it
a hard dense insoluble shard
will show up
and carry on.