Her dresser, the last to dismantle.
Birthday figurine, two fingers chipped
sits on a dusty mirrored tray.
Sweater sets and pedal pushers,
one lacey veil, bobby pins still attached
yellow cotton gloves, last worn many Easters past.
Hankies with hand stitched pansies
on delicate tatted corners,
peek from a small silk purse.
Sachet bags tied in faded ribbons
tucked in corners, sweetness long spent.
And then, there they were.
Red glass beads with silver crucifix
nestled on a small satin cushion,
third drawer front.
Ready for gnarled fingers
to move from stone to stone
haunted by her whispered words,
Hail Mary, full of grace.
Now hailed by millions,