soggy friday morning mass
lenten prayers and somber
singing lifting edges of gloom
stepping over railroad tracks
space a moment, steam rising
glance askew to lines of text
the morning across the sea
the mourning of peaceful
praying people on their island home
"ms. b--," they asked, "could we just play music today?"
"ms. b--, " they added, "would you play with us?"
afterward i let tears drop from green limes
the cost of therapy only $3.49 this time
exhaling tenderness and sorrow
slow squeezing of each half by half
opening, an unexpected sigh--
yolk, butter, salt, patience,
beloved preparation to be
together, three, at the familiar table
not a word of the mourning,
of the morning, we all understood;
I looked and looked
and stayed quiet; I knew it would
only be this once, and no more
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