Bead by Bead

At the end of it
   my mother grew light.
  Seemed hollow the way
   bird bones are hollow. 
Mom could sit forever
   at the breakfast table to finger
   her silver rosary strung with blue
   glass beads that had small pocks
As some flower seeds are almost
   perfect spheres but fall short
   have pocks, flaws. Mom said 
   her quiet Hail Mary’s decade after decade
Until she’d finally doze off somewhere between
“The fruit of thy womb” and “the hour of our death.”

Ed Ruzicka has published three full-length books of poetry, most recently, “Squalls” (Kelsey Press, 2024). Ed’s poems have appeared in the Atlanta Review, the Chicago Literary Review, Rattle, Canary and have received Pushcart nominations. Ed, who is also the president of the Poetry Society of Louisiana, lives with his wife, Renee, in Baton Rouge.