from a part of Lena's Kaddish...
Each part precious as memory.
A sacred tile in the mosaic that is my mother's legacy.
Is that why we leave stones at the grave -
to remember with weight the love that
lingers through time and mistakes?
There is a river in Yakutia with her name.
In the winter it is a road.
People are not isolated by the season
and are able to float down the river again in May.
There are so many ways to travel a river,
to accept memory,
to move down that long stretch of grief
and warmth in the seasons
that are not time
but a daughter mourning.
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