The house was her tomb
Afternoons with the sun trying
To pierce the shroud
My mother clutching
  Rosary beads
And her heart

I could not be a child
Self derision in such wants
Laying in deaths’ bed
I can still smell the blankets
Musty clean with the scent
Of freshly fallen tears

The clock could not find
Its next beat
The house could not sleep
We wandered with her through the halls
Looking for a God
Who would love us

“Hail Mary full of grace
The Lord be with thee
Blessed art thou amongst women
And blessed is the fruit
Of thy womb Jesus
Holy Mary mother of God
Pray for us sinners,
now
And at the hour of her death....”