black madonna
Our eyes meet dark
across the kitchen sink,
pooling maternal kinship,
without a lot of fussing
and praying, we regard
a settled melancholy.
Thoughts crisscross
quiet over the dishwater,
with a soothing ritual scrape
of accumulated leftovers,
keeping the best scraps
a sacred Eucharist,
cooled and wrapped
in smooth silence,
to be digested
tomorrow.
Tess Kincaid
April, 2011
Posted on her site Willow Manor
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