by Marcia J. Pradzinski

Let his body down in our

grainy ribbons of light 

along the bones of me.

On the ground, come morning the grasses will genuflect

with a dozen swirling constellations.

How silently a heart pivots on its hinge—

silent as the moment before the world was.

Eyes closed,

he falls into darkness,

receding from my grasp—

a person can die of motherhood.  

Cento Sources: David Caddy, Kwame Davis, Dorianne Laux, Alison Croggon, Cynthia Brackett Vincent, Marcia Hurlow, Jane Hirshfield, Elvis Alves, Hedy Habra, Louis Gallo, Karen Bowles, Sage Cohen

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Marcia J. Pradzinski, an award-winning poet, lives in Skokie, Illinois. Her poems have been featured in print and online. Recent and forthcoming publications include Clementine Unbound, Your Daily Poem, Ink In Thirds, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Honey & Lime. Finishing Line Press published her chapbook, Left Behind, in 2015. Her fellow poets help her stay productive. When not reading or writing, she enjoys water aerobics, walking, and going to movies.