St Teresa's roses

The wind blows us  
a little farther apart some days
& maybe she's supposed to
 
That silver chain around your neck,
I can see her outline resting on your heart
& I'm certain she carried you through  
whatever it was that made you  
hold her close.
 
Soft & quiet stirrings from  
some forgotten part of me whisper things I cannot hear & I tremble in wanton silence,  
wishing I could rest there too.
 
Wild Irish roots & a namesake,  
no roses here.
I was such a strong woman
& when the Gods tried to name me Grace,  
grace was already taken.