I feel the grief of age behind my eyes.
Not only simple healing tears, veilmisting, sorrow cleansing,
but grief and love held fast within my skull;
the growing oneness of the bones that
are my motherís
are my daughterís
yet my own.
The bones they ache, each one, to tell a separate tale.
I need to cry the bones, not tears.
finally to be told
© Annie Brosnan