Perserverance

A head of soft curls
and a wide smile missing teeth
are the sole blessings

amongst this hardship.
His laughter echoes lightly
in the green garden

while the machines hum
and the pedals keep clacking
above those stables.

It's for him that they
work their fingertips to blood
and breathe the darkness.

To keep rosy cheeks
from shrinking into shadow
and urge on the play

of the children
in the stables. What else?
When their husbands lay

alongside fathers
and the cold earth is layered
with posy flowers.

And the houses are
filled with maps of foreign lands
and colored jackets.

That boy he is the
son -- the son of those fathers.
True perserverance

is his young mother
for whom the road has gone cold
and the streets empty.

Their rhythm is found
in that comforting clacking
that promises work.

Work for the answers --
for the losses and sorrows --
until dawn rises

and releases shadow.
The great shadow of violence,
do they know it now?

Still the young laughter
will carry over stables
in the green garden.

That is their passion.