|
It
was yesterday, in the early afternoon light
I held your hand closely
in mine, the rosary beads
draped between our hands
– together, passing
from one bead to the
next,
Hail Mary, full of
grace,
flavoring the room: a
balm.
Breathing in deeply: All
That Is.
The Lord is with thee
ninety-five year old
vesseled spirit
with staccato breath.
Blessed art thou among
women
emptying with each
exhale, in the
lengthening pauses
of
nothingness.
The tide leaves the
shore:
each wave withdraws deep
to the sea.
Blessed is the fruit of
thy womb
a vessel made of red
earth and chile;
once strong legs, a
blackening blue,
as you take your leave
no longer needing them.
Ticket in hand, you turn
away,
look at the clock, see
that it’s time,
and move toward the gate
that reads
‘Departures’.
Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother
of God,
water pouring into its
source,
the vessel empties,
the breath rests,
and this time
does not
return.
Pray for us sinners.
The red-brown clay
dries, crumbles...
returns to the earth,
now and at the hour of
our death
as you leave:
a breeze
rejoining
the
wind. |
