Keeners

She came weeping at the border-hour,

waiting at the wall between field and house.

In the kitchen, the men strained into the dark

beyond the big window, scared for their lives

and counting quiet decades of prayers

between the kettle and the cooker,

while the women washed away dinner,

singing at the plates in the sink as they tidied.

Outside, she heard their echoes and was moved

past the house whose lights glittered like a shrine.