Marker

Each time I pass a roadside shrine

that marks the place where someone loved

lost his life, I offer a prayer

to one who also lost her Son;

she knows a mother's heart.

Today the small cross bore a name,

three letters, my son's name.

It was not his marker;

his death was far away

in a place I have never been

and do not wish to see,

at least not yet.

But I wondered as I prayed to Mary

if someone has marked

the place of my son's passing

with a simple cross,

or if some other mother says a prayer

each time she travels past,

and even at a distance knows

my heart's breaking.