Cemetery prayers

ring between branches

in evergreen groves.

Cringing eyes resonate in my chest

half-heart hollow,

there’s less depth in regret.

Withered souvenirs float

down from scarred bark

to tearstained ground.

Cottonball blankets surround

our tall boots’ imprints,

we walk in winter’s frown.

Only nature’s elements penetrate

this blessed premises’ marble walls.

Nonna’s weary fingers unfold

on gray, carved stone

and trace our family name.

Fleeting connection

in this strange sanctuary.

Mama arranges poinsettias around

her father’s icicle laced frame

on wide wooden benches,

where we stay

‘til purple tensioned dusk begs,

“Away.”

In linked arms, likewise hearts

venture towards metal gated exits,

Solemn, Sunday steps.

Nonna’s black scarf wrapped head

rests on my shoulder,

“Broken hearts are concrete filled,”

she whispers,

“fast poured pain that forever stays.

Pray you never lose

love like mine.”

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