my mother used to say ,
“Watch for rain after the death
of loved ones and you can tell
if they went straight to heaven.”
When she died it poured,
also true for Mother Theresa
while Princess Di,
didn’t have a drop from the sky
all though tears, like rivers ,
flowed from her fans' eyes.
My younger brother had a soft mist
the older one, no rain, but a mischievous wind.
I can remember with Sister Bernadette
it thundered and stormed for days.
She was my fifth grade teacher, stern and
able to handle a class of fifty on her own.
When she saw me in heels at eighteen
she said, “Beware of vanity my child.”
According to my mother’s theory
She must be at the right hand of the Father
scrutinizing everyone who entered.
The latest rush of Hollywood names,
all headed to the grave, brought bright
sunlight, quiet and still. Whatever their
fame a few thunderclouds formed
but no water fell from the sky.
Yet, just before this exit of famous souls,
my quiet brother-in-law also passed.
On the day of his funeral
his youngest son apologized for
the inclement weather,
totally unexpected, and I
assured him it was a probable sign
that St. Peter gave him a nod
and he entered the threshold of heaven.
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