For Nona

My mother taught me this is my duty:
to nurse my children until I have run
dry; to mend clothes although I have no skin
on my finger tips; to speak to Mary,
Queen of Heaven and Earth, about every
sin; it’s no crime that I’ve named and raised nine
kids alone. I approach the altar: wives
wonder Did he leave? Their envy-heavy
eyes hang like sleepless summer crescent moons.
He fled to Sicily. My shame be damned:
I will not kneel, abstain from communion,
cry to St. Anthony, or wring my hands.
I have lost nothing but a companion.
I can cut meat, clean house, cook meals unmanned.

2 Responses to “For Nona”

  1. This is very powerful and strong. Excellent. Pearl

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