Saturday, July 4, 2009

A Memory in Stone

Her stone was warm to my touch
I drew my hand away
It should be cold
Her stone is always cold
But, the July sun has
lent it's heat
I spread my fingers and press with a full
heart, my hand over the middle of
her stone
Eyes open.
I thought, no, remembered
my daughter's warm body
When I lay my hand with those same spread
fingers over her bare and swollen chest
To feel and know and will her heart to continue
Today her stone is warm