Third anniversary of my sister's death.
Look, my dear,
The sky is lightening—
I am no longer in the dead of night:
My fear now somehow softer
Than the sin of my transgressions.
Perhaps now I can love
Without the thoughts of retribution.
Lay vengeance-laden ways aside,
In favor of a better world,
Where honest sorrows are the kings and queens,
The night a womb, and not a crypt.
I'll slip each care into its daily coffin,
Loving the lady—
She is with me even now.
Slip soft wings of prayer around my shoulders.