I’m 85, dying,
rigor mortis - gaining ground
circling, round and round,
it hovers.
I’m frightened - but fighting -
Damn their moist eyes and mutterings!
I’m struggling –
Every breath blowing me into
pigtails, hopscotch, swings -
touching Heaven!
Planted in poverty’s pocket
my roots flinched,
Never mind - there was always
Laughter, glasses clinking,
Boys winking
and me – sinking,
sinking into a sea of madness –
Damn their pity, their moist eyes,
their murmurings !
Oh - she’s a cracked one isn’t she!
The Devil lassoed me
with a wedding ring,
boxed me till I learned to kneel,
learned to pray and hope to see –
A New Dawn.
Five little uns clung to me,
and me clinging to air,
falling and falling,
each breath blowing me
closer to Hell!
Prayers are never heard you see,
God closed the door on me
with such a bang
The house shook - my hand shook -
Left me with a gun in my hand -
So, I took the Devil out
blew his brains south
wrote his end note
cried out
Oh - God what have I done!
Rumours sprang like mushrooms
Did he die by his own hand or hers?
Damn their moist eyes and mutterings
I was frightened and fighting!
Now I will face them
The Devil or my Maker
Maybe they sit together - compare stigmatas?
.
How will they greet me?
perhaps make me kneel and pray
for A New Dawn?
©Mar 26, 2024 Anne Mulcahy
