Mother Mary weeping with me

Last spring I couldn’t hear any kind of message
of hope or birth —  only death.

Easter was just an idea in the future,
but I was living and breathing in Good Friday.

I joined hearts with Mother Mary
who wept with me at the foot of Tinsley’s grave.

She became my comfort and my salvation,
she has not left my side.

But today I started hearing Easter’s message again —
that death is a movement towards new life,
it is not the end.

And I can let that hope settle in my bones for a bit,
as Henry breathes up and down against my chest.

But this afternoon I will still go sit and weep by Tinsley’s grave,
and Mary Mother will still be there
weeping with me.