Matriarch
My mother may succeed you tomorrow
My sister
thirty years from now
mother to daughter
daughter to sister
You look more like her the less I see you
You have her eyes
set
back
blue stained glass
seventy seven year
dignity
forgotten
on the phone
glad to hear my voice again
Just a little stroke
to
darken your vision
sap
memory
stall
your car
though you still walk to Mass
each morning
For your funeral we'll return to St. Peter's
My mother will bury you
Bells will ring