In agony.
With arms like daffodils in June
that hadn't seen a drop of rain.
Legs like flour sacks
they heaved and tossed upon the bed.
Corners of the sterile sheets.
Papercuts that slice the night
and drench it with the blood of tears.

"Cheer Up! My God!
You might have Died!"
Missing what it was to hear
the rooster of the empty space
and all the things they might have said
that pounded in her ears.

Pitchforks of the hollow eyes
she buried with a smile.
Seas of masks above her head.
Pillows fluffed on pity's couch
they fingered time and time again.
Like rosaries without a plan
to carry off the pain.