Late at night the house breathes
what sounds like harmonica chords
drifting across the prairie
to a wide river rolling through the night.

In her last months, my mother heard
a chorus in the basement
serenading her with songs
she sang as a girl.

I told her it was the celestial choir
practicing for when she joins them.
Together we’d sing “Beautiful Dreamer”
and “Shenandoah, I love your daughter”

Away, you rolling river.
O Shenandoah, I hear you calling
Roll away, you endless water