Poems from Mary May

LIFE AT 240

7 MINUTES | 10 POEMS

Irish blessings upon ye!

This month, I wrote poems about morning prayers, the physics of marriage, saying no, a promise from God, the center of the universe, dancing, and a secret. There’s also a little blarney about my Irish heritage, and a special cookie poem for the grandkids. I hope you enjoy them. — Mary May

Morning Ritual #4

For over fifty years of mornings

we’ve stood in front of a mirror

flossing and brushing teeth

you on the right

me on the left

listening for the right song

it might start to play

when we’re combing our hair

swallowing vitamins

or gargling Listerine

you take my hand

and that’s my cue

we dance and twirl and kiss

or we slowly rock

while you hold me

and whisper lyrics in my ear

sometimes

we fight back tears

knowing too soon

one of us will dance alone

but not today

today we dance

Matins

As I sit this morning hour

I am struck by how much power

turns the earth and lifts the sun

makes the heavens move as one

I feel my breath so light and sweet

braced by every gentle beat

of a heart that overflows

recalling all the peaks and lows

counting doors that I have closed

reliving wonders that I chose

feeling time and where it goes

seeking answers no one knows

as I sit this morning hour

how little is within our power

Becoming Irish

My mother said when I was wee
That Irish was a fourth of me.

And that’s the day when first I knew
That leprechauns would share their clue.
Someday when I was very old,
They’d lead me to their pot of gold.

But that’s not all that was revealed,
By my red hair a deal was sealed:
If a lass now I must be,
Then fairies would be friends to me.

I felt their mischief in my bones,
And magic in the rune-marked stones.
I grew to love the color green,
And four-leafed clovers seldom seen.

The blarney stone my hand did touch,
On the drink I spent too much.
I sipped a pint and sang a song,
And wrote some poems that were too long.

But then I found my history
Hiding in my family tree.
My mother was a clever wench,
I found out that we’re really French.

A New Dream

The center of the universe
is my bed

a sanctuary
where I hide these bones and flesh
beneath heaped blankets

I leave this body unattended
as a I soar and float
untethered

watching space
curl like ribbons of wood
watching time blink
like the eyes of the innocent

until I hear whispers
calling me back
to that old head

on its soft pillow

it’s time to wake to a new dream

Chronicle

I am the tattered book

where your story is written

coffee-stained

and smelling of apples

my dog-eared pages

whisper your travails

track your triumphs

celebrate your goodness

these dusty tales

are written on my soul

each fading word a moment

of deep knowing

hour by hour

through decades of love

seeing every truth of you

in ways even you can not

my favorite picture

is always

the one

you draw today

Before School

In the scant minutes

between "drop off” and “the bell”
there they both stood on my back porch
faces announcing a conspiracy had been hatched
and they were here to confide it

so the excitement
wouldn’t get in the way of the words
there was much wiggling
while the younger twirled
and the older chirped:

mom said
you get your second vaccine today
so I’m making a calendar
with 14 days

when we check off all of them
we can HUG you

at last
like a promise from God
with its own little advent calendar

to assure it will truly happen

The Secret

You wonder why I didn’t act surprised
when you told me your secret
spitting it like a hot cinder scorching your tongue

I was not surprised
because I knew

although you denied it
over and over
I saw the truth of it
in your sorrow
in your broken dreams

I felt its heat burning you alive
shaming you for what was not your fault

I saw you stop believing
in your goodness
seeking punishment
even annihilation

all along
I knew
what you could not speak
until today

it was the burns seared into your soul
that gave you away

they looked just like mine

The Physics of Marriage

Perhaps this is the key to a good marriage:
we are not partners — we are mirrors
I am not your wife — I am your witness

contracted to watch carefully

and take good notes

oath-bound to reflect the truth

without bias or judgment

pledged to persevere

until the mystery is solved

all based on a formula

of relativity and equivalence:

attention yields understanding

understanding gives way to forgiveness

forgiveness surrenders to love

and of course

love equals the speed of light

Why No Is the Right Answer

I need to live simply

simple enough to feel the lightness of only two spoons in the drawer

simple enough to feel the joys of tending and the rituals of food

simple enough to have empty hours I bequeath to my soul

I need to live slowly

slow enough to feel the breeze move the hair that frames my face

slow enough to hear that hitch in your breath when you’re sad

slow enough to feel stillness no matter what chaos swirls about me

I need to live deeply

deep enough to master my mind and create goodness

deep enough to transcend a lifetime of domestication

deep enough to awaken to peace and abounding grace

that is why
I say no

Snowflake Cookies

When winter winds blow and it starts to snow,

It is a reminder to bake

A sparkling delight that glistens pure white,

Something tasty like fruit pies or cake.

Nothing too barren, arctic, or icy,

And certainly nothing that’s chilled.

It must not remind that autumn’s behind

And Springtime is yet to be willed.

It is our duty! Celebrate beauty!

Forget all the things that we missed.

For winter’s sake, it is cookies we’ll bake.

We’re snow-kissed and we must persist.

Each day we should wake and taste a snowflake,

A crystalline gift from the sky.

Eat one before bed, then rest our wee head,

Quite certain our sweet dreams are nigh.

I love you,
Granny

Liner Note: Whenever I bake a new kind of cookie for or with my grandchildren, I try to write a little cookie poem to memorialize the occasion. I baked the sugar cookies and the kids decorated them. They were the most delicious snowflakes ever but just didn’t feel right falling on our eyelashes. More of a clunk, really.

WONDERING?

If you’re wondering why I write poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240. And thank you for your interest.

Sending good luck and shamrocks,
Mary May