Burden

I am carrying

the bowl where she fed, bitter

herbs, salt, honey, the taste

of her life. I am carrying

the cloth where she lay, her

dark hair veining the white,

imprint & pain washed

away, the binding, the seams

folded shut.

I am carrying

what is left, her voice

in my ears, questions

not asked, her eyes at the end

jelling over; & before that her dark

dreaming smile, her long

arms reaching for babies, her scarred

knees that I envied. Ashes &

shards after fire.

Wind

lifts in the bow] of the desert, takes

what is left. Moth

wings of ash flecking

the cold, shards

scattered on sand, filling

the tracks of the living

& dead, it is ended.

O mothers

who thicken the earth, be fed

& not angry, be sheltered, be

safe where you wait, & do not

come back to the remnants

you left, do not

come back with your love.