An introductory prayer from Mary
The opening poem from a collection titled “The life and times of Mary” who may or may not be an alter ego, and may or may not have existed.
Lord, father, ghost, these are my prayers,
My cries born of the branch, my fears,
These are my dying dreams, my hopes,
They are the sharpening past, its tears.
Lord, my words pencilled, doubly inked
Stare at me from the shrouded page –
Stars bright, unbright, long dead,
To me still alive, without age.
Untilted, gravity beckons,
The grave, open, appled,
Leers with its one eye,
A grand bingo, beacons
Flaring, burning through the chill
And I am tempted to close, bend,
Then she, her face, her tall boned will,
Pulls, points me to another end.
I sheathe the blade, pick up my pen.