Grandma is dying of cancer.
                                       
a priest splashes Holy Water on Grandma.
                                       
the Holy Water is like rain falling on a

soon to be departed flower

struggling to be free from the pain of the world.

I hold Grandma’s frail hands
        
her palms are facing upward as if in prayer.

the lines on the hands tell a thousand stories

of suffering in America
                                                  
 land of opportunity.

 I have a piece of America

because America took a piece of Grandma

an Italian Elizabeth Cady Stanton

who embraced the American dream

although she was never part of it.

                                               
forgive me Grandma for becoming an atheist,

a Democrat and marrying an Irish woman.

 I still make the sign of the cross when I pass

a church

most of the time.

I try to remember the less fortunate like you and Grandpa

during the Great Depression when you gave credit

at your grocery store and free coal to the entire neighborhood
 
and despite threats against you

organized Italian immigrants to vote.  

Grandma died of cancer.

the Holy Water did not help her.

the rosary beads blessed by the Pope

did not help Grandma.

but I will always remember you Grandma.

how could I forget your songs?

your kiss?
                                               
your great strength?

your faith worked
                                              
a miracle in me

although I don’t  believe in miracles.