and i teared up on the train
fondling my pocket rosary only 1/2 the decade
you have to say it twice through for it to count
“and i will wait for her”
the bag on my shoulder weighing heavy against the miraculous medal pinned to my bra.
i saw the next ten years of their daily bread eaten the same way
over the same paper with the same story on every page.
“and i will wait for her”
climbing the stairs to my apt i hear a loud commercial in spanish
perhaps theirs’ is saddest mystery of all.
i cannot deliver her from the evil of predictability.
nearing the 4th floor the smell of bacon wafts into my nose.
purgatory becomes her life.
unlocking my door i’m greeted to a dark stillness – home alone -
and begin my second pass of the rosary
“blessed art thou among women”

you curl your lips around your teeth when you are thinking
a wild wrinkly “o” shape
your eyes up and to the right
searching through your brain’s filing cabinets.

orla’s laugh echos along the plastic walls of the blue tub, filled to brim with melting ice bottles of water and juices boxes, as she searches for three bottles of beer.
maureen is digging in her purse for an illusive lighter, cigarette bobbing up and down like a diver on a spring boardas she mumbles.
nora, holding her son, mingles with guests, who coo encouragement while he practices his newly discovered toothless grin.
and I feel my own grin creep up and flood my body with warmth. i love this. I love them.