Carrying Him Home

The Burial of a Local Hero

The whole town came walking
through winter wheat fields,
a river of dark coats and memories
flowing toward the high ground
where generations sleep beneath stones.

They carried him on their shoulders,
our boy who died saving others,
his medal gleaming against the oak box
like the last star in a dawn sky.
Even the birds fell silent,

knowing this was a ceremony
older than their songs,
this carrying of the fallen
back to the earth that grew them.
The grass bent beneath so many feet,

making paths like prayer beads
leading to the open ground
where his grandfather dug graves
for fifty years, knowing one day
he’d dig one for himself,

but never dreaming he’d live
to see this one. The old man stands
straight as a flagpole now,
his tears falling like seeds
into the dark soil that will hold

his grandson’s forever-young body,
while above, geese arrow south
in perfect formation, their wild crying
a twenty-one gun salute
to the boy who loved their freedom.