Salt in the Well

The mirror cracked
Nostalgia, like grief, lancing poison

I want to hear that something in her broke open
the first time she held me
That all her rage and pain somehow sublimated into a fierce protectiveness
I have her chin, after all, and her smile
Perhaps that is why she raised me to know heartache
Wild-shy, a stranger in a world not to be trusted
The only protection she knew how to give a sharp and shattered heart
It is a strange sort of love that I, who cannot picture my husband’s face,
Can nonetheless perfectly render the
*Exact*
shade of lavender
Her lips turned as I held her hand and sang her into death
My well-defended heart broken open, finally, by the throes of this ever welling grief
I am strong, Mama
I speak the words you could not say
I root down deeply in the middle of my own heart, and this is where I stand
Open, aflame, exalting in the taste of ash and rose
Fertile, finally, and flourishing

I haven’t any words, my Mother
Except those which fall down my cheeks
With them flowing heart’s blood, heart’s wish
May you be well