Great-grandmothers
who witnessed water shift
to blood-
a history in Elder song
sounding down years,
measured in sunlight
broken
by roundly pearled night.
It came and went
in patches of darkness,
like mother:
who cannot reconcile
old age or accept
forgetful;
unable to recover
faces she loved,
even those dead.
[ especially one
she lost twice. ]
Voices insist
she stood cemetery watch
beside empty earth,
where a child was swallowed
and soil shall someday comfort mother;
but not yet, nor all at once,
bits of mind will fold in turns,
each buried alone:
she keeps secrets
from herself-
perhaps she is wise,
only knowing loss
because they say so-
murdered child,
bits and pieces scattered
in bush land
[ and behind dark eyes ]
where willy-wag tails
visit to sing of loss
she cannot hold.
Daughter is gone
and a twin cannot
understand
enough to grieve,
carries it all,
a parent's shattering
stacked with own:
chopped firewood,
splinters rising
with a needle's touch to mind;
whispers - from those
once known.
There will be balance-
when bodies reunite
beneath black soil
and spirits
rock in earthen arms
grey marble will
forget us all,
but they will have
song.
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