Two Funerals, Then Easter

a poetry collection

In 2018, I published my second collection of poems, “Two Funerals, Then Easter” through Dustlings Press, a small, independent poetry press I began that year, consisting of just four Midwestern Christian poets: E.M. Welcher, Laura Kauffman, Joy Moore, and myself. In other words: this is my second book, and my first self-published collection.

“Ordinary magic. It’s a phrase Rachel uses in one of her pieces, and it’s the phrase I choose to describe this entire collection.”

— John Blase

“I made the mistake of opening this book at my daughter’s swim meet. Opening it wasn’t a mistake—quite the opposite—but doing so when I wasn’t in a place to sit and think and feel and grieve and hope was. Rachel’s poems draw on all that from me - mind and soul. They’re beautifully crafted and beautifully true, as the best poetry should be. They are portraits of feeling and place and people and God - the stuff of real, true life.”

— Barnabas Piper

"These poems should be read in order, but slowly, over years if necessary, or all at once if at all possible. Either way, though, they should be read. Mourn, laugh, and resolve with the poet: beauty comes from ashes, even ashes like these.”

— Lore Wilbert

“The world doesn't need any more pretentious or self-absorbed words. We need words of beauty and grace, grit and hope. We need poetry that sounds like the language of our own heart, verse that tells the stories we long to hear when we're alone, cold, in the dead of night. We need words that make us more human, that rouse our faith. And here, we have it.”

— Winn Collier

"Rachel beckons you into the heaviness of grief and the relentlessness of hope in the way only a great poet can."

— Jon Minnema

A poem from the collection:

Two Funerals, Then Easter 

Two funerals during Holy Week,
as if he hasn’t thought of death 
enough. Last Sunday 
would have been
his mother’s birthday
but she died at forty-three. 
Spring is when his wife died
at thirty, and lent lasts
for so long in this house that
we have to tackle each other
in hallways and our living room,
like children playing, inviting life
into bodies that have seen
too much death, forcing gloom
to surrender to joy. We have turned
laughter into legitimate therapy, which is all
our survival guide would say:
“Find someone who cracks you up.
You’re gonna’ need it.”

Two funerals, then Easter
when he will remind the congregation:
He is risen.

When it’s sunny, we open the front door
to watch what is growing, what is green,
what is true despite true sorrow,
and we talk about Resurrection a lot,
like a dear long-distance friend
who we know still loves us
despite the distance. 

He is risen indeed.

And the pastor who has suffered
passes around the broken bread
of his body and heart to 
a Body who needs pain recognized.

He is the gift no one prays for
because that would be cruel, but really
we are so thankful
to have you. 

You can purchase the collection here.