Burial of the Patriarchs

Ringless left and burdened right

One steers the oar. One stokes the fire

Word and flame incarnate. A heavy crown

A mouth to feed. A dog to guard the house

Shame spins the wheel. Swollen breasts heavy with greed

In The Holy Sisterhood of Grief

Leave these weaving hands, untamed, to bury all your dead

To pour the oil that fuels the lantern

To illuminate a path untrodden

Child bound in the cradle, brine boils in the hearth

Crimson robed and starved, holds the distaff

Crimson robed and marked for sacrifice