Family

A mother weeps for her daughter, who has suffered more than she can take; and the daughter weeps for her daughter not yet educated in pain; and the granddaughter weeps for her doll, the hair ripped and shredded, the body broken into pieces, the pieces collected like mementos. A little boy cups dirt in his hands, weeping for his dog, whose ashes have been scattered in the yard. His sister weeps for the damaged wing inside her chest, barely lifting. And a husband weeps for his wife, who won’t recover; and the wife weeps for her husband, who lives with a hole in his heart; and the hole swallows love and sorrow, weeping as it feeds itself.