Our Lady of the Upstairs Apartment
tired saints sharing cushions on her couch
welcomes you with chocolate or a half mint
and her kiss at the corner of your mouth
The landlord carries rain in a bucket
collected from the cripples in the hall
no desert-born demon can obstruct it
if a judgment or her lashes start to fall
Our Lady of the Wooden Table Kitchen
serves you holy water in a little cup
and speaks to you in such a soothing diction
the bedtime tales the sofa boys made up
The weary stars lie down upon her rooftop
and she covers them with blankets made of smoke
In the morning they roll cigarettes and wonder
at the comforts as they slept she kindly spoke
Our Lady of the Upstairs Apartment
with her crosses made from cherry wood or teak
she laughs and calls you Emily the Innocent
and leaves you with her kiss upon your cheek.
This is utterly lovely. A prayer of a poem.
ReplyDeleteFabulous, Shay!
ReplyDeleteSuch a lyrical, lilting exploration of possibilities never made into dreary realities, and dreams that come true best in the heart and not the calculating mind. I often have dreams like this, of community and closeness with forgotten fellow travelers and loves lost and never quite bloomed in the ruins of the grind that we call "real life." You've made that come to life here. I love the last line of the first stanza, and the perfection of that entire second stanza. A lovely, accomplished poem, Shay.
ReplyDeleteThis makes me wish I could step into this poem and linger for a while. It carries a beautiful magic in it's rhyme and wistful lines. Something lovely to dream indeed!
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