your mother caressed the stone

like it was the cheek of a newborn baby

tracing the granite engraving

of the years you spent walking this earth



those same fingers swiped angrily

at the tears that slid silently

down the valleys where pain had creased her skin



and i wanted to reach out

clasp her hands in mine and

squeeze out the shaking



but the hands she wanted were yours,

not mine

and your own lay still

beneath the patch of growing grass

that her hands had so patiently watered