Broken Eternal
Broken egg shells nestled upon
my white breakfast plate.
To my left, framed within the dining room
window, the replicate Pieta --
You, motionless on your mother’s lap,
lifeless, limp, outwardly impotent.
The woman.
Holding the fecund, bloody body of a son,
encircled pain in her mother arms
both definitive anguish
and stillness beyond.
Understand? Accept? Mourn?
Right… here, right…. now
and wait, yearn
to know – is there more?
long for incompleteness
rather than defeat
Luminous marble
Illuminating sonlight
Timeless Eternal.
Oh Mary, what canst thou say?
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