The Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia

Pain—
Not sharp
Like the clean slash of a keen-edged knife,
But dull,
Aching,
The tender touch of bruise
That throbs beneath the skin—
Yet does not surface
And for the hiding
Hurts the more.
Burning
Like the sting of unshed tears that struggle for the easing comfort of
Release.

 

It takes so little—
The flashing vision of a face
Remembered,
Laughing,
And my face responds
With aching jaws that clench to hold back
Trembling tears.
A sound,
A thought
That calls to mind some word that was so much a part of
You
And my throat aches with cries that want to call your name,
Only to know—
Deep down—
That calling cannot bring you back.

 

How long does loving hurt?
And when does aching cease?
As long as memory can recall
And say with love
I knew you well—
And knowing
Cannot quell the
Love
Nor ease the
Ache
But only grasp that having loved
My heart can bear the
Pain.