Her eyes scream,
The cross on her cap points toward heaven.
The cross on her apron, close to her heart.
Dark bangs drop over brow
as if from exhaustion.
Tight cloth masks nose and mouth.
It’s caution tape;
A barrier between her and horror
Though all the while
her eyes scream.
Piercing grey under heavy lids,
thin red tentacles reaching for iris
like claws—
Or did I imagine those?
There is something red
about her sepia expression,
red and imposing in the colorless photo.
Her eyes scream.
They’ve seen death,
seen it coming in a wave
through reservations, rural towns
work houses.
Seen it devour the poor.
Dig mass graves,
Take whole families in a matter of hours.
Death has yet to touch her
but it’s come close.
She’s felt its hot foul sulfur
breath on her neck.
It came here with the parade