Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment

Despite your pleading, she never seemed to know your fear, your suffering. Worse: recognizing that she did know and didn’t care. Given her keenness, not to mention your insistence, how painfully likely. In the most compassionate reflection you know that she knew, didn’t comprehend, was frustrated. Careless remains the outcome, these years. That her response bulldozed your tender heart is less extravagant a description than she might deride: leftover the shattered, dusty remains of fear ignored, ground into the loamy foundation of your once-shared desperate, loving affection. Dead. Fertile compost for the next beloved misunderstanding.