A Rosary Entwined

Her hair, an arctic of lace,
a bridal veil falls, an ice
about her shoulders, a tundra
— She is dead, my mother,
and in her hands and on them
every gem of a love once loved
reveals itself fashioned to reflect
the lips of us bowed for a kiss,
a rosary entwined. How waxen
her cheek, how cold as the coldness
of her days always at the altar
of another man, some Father,
not mine, some love
to whom she goes willing,
posed as if betrothed
to a death, of which
she so rarely spoke.

Image: Marites Allen on Unsplash

5 thoughts on “A Rosary Entwined

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  1. Your work is consistently amazing, and yet even among your other writing, this one stands out as particularly special. Every detail is so meticulously crafted and composed in your classical style, conveying so much grief in only a few thoughtful lines. Awe-inspiring stuff for sure.


  2. This piece de resistance displays ample respect for the cruelty of the human condition. Some people are crippled by their intimate awareness of the fact of mortality from an early age. Some luckier cousins live their lives amid dreams of permanence. Don’t blame yourself for any of this. You have written a brilliantly sad poem Devon. John


    1. Thank you so much John. To expand on the above, your statement, it seems that whether we come from that place of permanence or the early awareness of mortality, we all must in the end make peace with the strained more so than the “easy” grief of a one most loved.


      Liked by 1 person

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