Mary, intercede for me.
I know I had a rosary
once, but I can’t find it.
It had dark red beads,
and a pewter cross.
Please, Mary, intercede
for me. I want a life
worth living, and I’m tired
of asking my father
and my therapist
for this. A life soft and pink
as a calf’s nose, a life
roomy and good and
good and good. You see
what my life is now: one blow
of desert-dust in the eyes
after another, and a hot sun
clawing at my back at that. No,
that’s a lie. The truth is nothing hurts
enough, and sometimes I can’t feel
if my heart’s really in my heart-place. Mary,
check for me, is it there? Mary,
with bird-soft hands, endless flower
of face. Intercede for me,
bleed for me, whatever it is
you do. Make my living
into less of a joke, plunge
a fat, red heart inside me,
make me cry,
make me cry.
Photo by meghan dougherty, used and adapted under CC.
