my mother veiled
in black
sat in her favorite chair
with her hands folded
over her rosery
she reached up
touched my face
and whispered
you look thin
such is grief
that bottomless reserve
that endlessly open wound
the pain
has faded greatly
but its barbs
still live
with potency
and surprise
they still dwell
in the dark corners
of dreams
in the secret places
of the heart