mother mary.
2005-12-20 2:57 p.m.
this is the turn of the tides, and i waithours in the doorframe, a different person
become hard and thoughtful, mother mary
in the midst of her son's season
has found grace in her own name, trading out religions.
what peace can there be behind these motives - my calloused feet
have covered hallways and woven paths into them, have
stepped out uneasy rhythms in absences, have
been forgotten to cold contemplations.
my structure shakes no more
to think of good and giving fathers, with their palms outstretched
in the dead of winter, saying
i have kept a place, my rights
for you in heaven.
instead,
even contemplation questions at itself -
those men who loved two masters, who let longer lives
bring their glory to them,
who held my hands in adolescent rages, who
bridled
me, and showed me cowardice, and would not be convinced
of worlds between us,
those men
those men have fallen dead under my passage, have
fallen back against my anger
those men had thought their second god
would never fight against them, and now are
quiet
and now are
sunken
under my new direction.