Stone Woman

She is crying rough, pebble tears

that sink across grey, weathered cheeks

and cut her lips rather than salt them.

Mourning the loneliness she feels now

that the bird on her shoulder

stole away to a piece of branch

on a more accommodating tree.

She is tearing at her aching belly –

with limestone claws –

because that is where half

of her heart has fallen.

She cannot digest it.

She pities me for ill use

Of five strong senses.

She imagines what good

she’d put them to –

the stones she would turn over –

if her tonnaged body could move,

or even if she could just lift her eyes

from spot where she’s been staring

For more than a century.