Writing
An Easter Meditation on Mary’s Behalf: The Mourning After
I will be naked soon for the rending of my garments. Hairless too. The women assure me grief softens with time. Not mine. The pain in my mother’s heart is like Job’s pottery shards. Never will the knife-edged fragments cease to cut me from the inside out. The women grip my wrists to keep my nails
March 30, 2018
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