Your mother sits
holding a small icon
in a field of burnt barley
next to the cancelled name and jacket
once worn by The Convict
now known as Martyr
and Teller of Truth.
The jacket is ruptured
and the letters of the name
are all barbed on wire.
Your mother covers her trembling mouth
and breaths into her tired heart
fearing what you have unleashed
fearing the fate of your own jacket
fearing the outcome of the letters of your name.
The gilt of the icon peels away.
Its Madonna weeps red paint as shrapnel cuts into her babe.
————————————————-
Image: Russian Icon of Weeping Virgin Mary