That all the world should be vaxxed.
The decree rides the winds of this our
discontented winter and I find myself
thinking of her—Mary—the woman
love ruptured that holy horrible night.
Dare I pray to you? I was taught there’s
no need for an intermediary, but then
again what about a friend? The older,
worldly sister I always longed to have?
Sister Mary, if you could endure surely
so can I, right? Reassure me, I pray, for
the heart grows cold with age and time
and snow. Remember me to your son.