As the women crossed the field
(Little more now than dirt)
They arrive; they arrange, clean, plant flowers
Upon the tombs in memory of the hurt
And love and all that had been
And still is and shall be
For whatever time is to come
Some things only death ends
Even then when the dregs are downed
By those that have gone
And those that remain and
All are now ground of the earth
Or dust in the wind
Who can say that even now there is an end?
Arranged, cleaned, dirt now flowering
Skirts are tugged to position for kneeling
And crossing and beseeching
Blackened women wrapped in mourning cloth
Reverently drop to the ground
They call it “The resting place of the just”
“El Dormitorio De Los Justos”
Well saved or not, good, or not
Here they lie
As must we all
Born as we are everyone
To grow and live and rot
The only prayers that receive an answer
Are the ones we apply to ourselves
The women rise, brush at the dirt
Faith is admirable, but the one that got
What he was looking for speaks here and now.
I was only there for the questions.
