Lady in a blue gown

I walked into the room
where she shrieked and tore at the strings
of her blue gown
said, it’s pulling my heart out,
said, can’t you see the blood?
 
Her gaze looks past it all
into another life when she cooked
at dawn, drew water from wells
and smiled at dirty children.
One second split wide the omphalos, 
 
what the future will not hold, 
mated to the hole in her solar
plexus where her son lived until 
he couldn’t, until he shot through
her poverty
 
with the wave of a hand.  
I have learned to say of course
though her wild eyes cannot find
my fingers walking towards hers,
towards what she tries
 
to undo.
She will die later that day
but in the moment I see only the frayed strings 
of her blue gown, her grasp
frantic to form a vowel
 
that might encompass feeling too much.

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