God's Graveyard
In God's graveyard there are bones,
nothing else.
I see them,
splintered, fractured,
crushed.
God tells me,
in His wisdom,
they are mine
and my mother's
and her mother's before her.
If I could pick flowers
on this wintry day
her black eyes
would not haunt me
and my mother would say
there is no God.