Mary, Pietà

Body betrayed, I bore
the world’s fugitive, had lost you
before we untethered.

Death is a matter of waiting,
and I saw yours curled
like a snake around every
corner, mine the spider
I couldn’t catch in time.

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When offered your marbled
flesh—
I couldn’t.

Forgive me. A mother can
only hold so many scars.

But hovered between nightmare
and waking, my wounds sink
into yours, fresh and warm
as I remember you. In darkness,
all blood sheds embraced.

This is how we began.

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