A Family Buried Amongst Wildflowers

I cannot wait for you to arrive home in the beating summer 
of post-war with your soul taken by order of the governor. 
I cannot wait for your bleeding ink letters written in haste
with salty regret that you were not born in some far-off place. 
I cannot wait for the money pulled from dead men's pockets
while I grieve for you in the winter and quilt itchy blankets. 
I cannot wait for your crumbling pride, another sleepless night, 
and the guilt to fester while I grow my wings as a wife in flight.
I cannot wait for your life to end while mine has just begun;
my dear, I breathe to be in peace, to watch the dawning sun.
I cannot wait for your death, and for that, I will never forgive 
you or myself for not granting the patience to continue to live.
I cannot wait for you any longer, my darling, honor my will,
bury me beside our only child in the wildflower field on the hill. 
I cannot wait for age to come, my love, this is far from divine, 
and despite this sudden sin, leave vases of daylilies as a shrine. 
I cannot wait for you in life, but I will gladly cherish you in death,
be absolved before you enter heaven, and bless your final breath.