She is alive
in the red cardinal that appeared
outside my mother’s house
the morning after we buried her,
peaceful
under an array
of yellow roses.

She carried me home
with the hawks
all the way back to Louisiana.

And I know I prayed for her
more than I’ve ever prayed
for anyone or anything;
I’ve wished on shooting stars
and passing hay bales
more than anything else
I could think to wish
She was.