Witness to a million times a million wrongs,
write upon her bones, here lies a woman
who forgave sin before sin was ever born,
who saw an end before the end was nigh,
who stole through the eye of a sharp needle
only to return – twofold – via a tear in the sky.
Overhearing the slant of their cutting words,
birdnest jargon intended or acumen implied,
tolerates their inequities, one more cross
she silently bears on shoulders extra wide.
Affixing labels gives them great pleasure,
a sense of control over one steeped in loss.
Powerless, their helplessness duly amplified,
with dire pronouncements they up the ante
rather than extend simplest human remedy,
balm against an impulse to slice and dice.
Heady intellectualism shown as sinful comedy,
when warmth and empathy no doubt suffice.
Time unravels all remnants of common sense.
They watch starve the starving and die the dying;
but earlier still, they stood dumbly by as lonely
became alone and then the all-in-one herself,
rendered untouchable by hands refusing to touch,
unreachable by minds stubbornly stonewalling.
So, in red ink, write upon these delicate bones:
~ she fought the fight until she could no longer ~
~ forgave sin before sin was ever born ~
~ saw an end before the end was nigh ~
~ stole through the eye of a sharp needle ~
~ returned – twofold – via a tear in the sky ~
R.I.P.