The Quality of Sorrow

She was a hard woman -
built of sharp angles,
body language shouting
to gathered kith and kin.

To that vast void of loss
she would not yield,
standing still as stone
when they lowered her man
into the dun-colored ground.

Spent as cold ashes,
her eyes dry as dust,
deeming passion's display
a bitter pill better swallowed,
something best kept out of sight.

Viselike, this stranger
shackled my hand
in a prisoner's grip.
I wanted to cry in protest.
Where had my soft mother gone?

Dark certainty grew.
Both parents lost
in the space of one day -
in the space of one breath.
The world fell away from my feet.

Until night in its wisdom
gave her back to me whole.
Lamplight-honed diamond offering
of a single, sweet tear - her gentle
concession and a gift beyond price.

Dawn Ray's picture

Dawn Ray has written stories and poems since her childhood days. Mostly, she writes for the joy of writing. Her poems have been featured in Amarathine Muses, and she is currently working on the second book of her Farfinagle Fairytales fantasy series.

Last updated September 23, 2011