It was in those last months
after you celebrated your 100th birthday that you began
the questions about heaven –

How will I find my way?

You asked it of your wife as the two of you dwell in the simplicity of morning coffee
and she told you to look for your guardian angel
because Lord knows you have one

like that time the silo auger swung and knocked you out
and there was that day a fire threatened the barn
and then there was that spring when the creek flooded and you had to rescue cows.

You listened, squinting to see
but your stubborn skepticism
left a furrow on your soul.

It was in those last weeks
after you celebrated your 101st birthday and
no cows no crops to worry over

only the slowing
of your breathing
and your blue eyes whispering to me

Am I dying?

Yes.
Oh how you love this earth and every season
passing. Often enough in the past years you tell me

I would do it all over again – life is so interesting.

It was in those last days
as those who love you most come
and tell stories of what they remember and they leave

back to their own stories
while you drift in a place where the sun
no longer warms your bones.

How do I?

It was in those last moments when the twilight
is silent, that I pick up the memoir you had written
reaching for the deeper comfort of your own words.

I read aloud coming to this story – before
electricity, before your sister died from influenza, before your family lost the farm
during the depression. It is winter. You are eight.

You get home from school as dusk settles
heading to the drafty barn where your father
(you were always so close to your dad)

was milking the handful of cows.
Finishing your chore of hand pumping the water
from the cistern to the cattle trough

you lie in the warm hay
in the dark of the barn and fall asleep to the melody
of the milking, of your father.

When your dad wakes you he takes down
the lantern hanging from the barn hook casting long shadows
over the two of you as you walk back to the house.

You remember every detail. Oh papa
I sigh through my whispering blue eyes
that’s how you find your way.

Just lie down in the hay and sleep –
your dad will come and gently wake you –
take down the lantern –

together you will walk through the dark –
till you reach the house –
where everyone is waiting.