She was

She was a woman

with eyes

poised, aged wisely,

but hard.

She birthed babies in bathtubs

and frightened scarecrows

away.

On an island covered in

Italian storms, she

gained and lost control.

She nailed down desires

like drifting,

too-free leaves, floating aimlessly

in wind without direction.

Motherhood came too soon.

She learned to reopen arms

she swore she’d never open again.

She breathed for years through

streets and celebrations,

and losses

that shook and rumbled

her stoic soul.

She was the concrete jungle.

She was the master bearer of secrets and misery past.

But when

pain swooped in like vultures,

she passed

away, and lay

floating above those she left behind.

Whispers follow them

down hallways

now,

I’ll never really be gone...