Poetry       Essays       Letters

Sandy Lyne


So Many Graves

So many graves,
marked and unmarked in the world,
bodies washed by women,
their sons and brothers, friends
and husbands, men, boys,
mourned by wives, sisters, mothers,
women at the hour of death,
women who also pass the deaths
of other women back and forth.
They wash the body, wash the table,
weep, roll out tortillas
white as winter moons.


© The Estate of Sandford Lyne



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