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Mary Patricia Anthony Poem
Song of a Warrior’s Bride
He counts on me for beauty:
His eyes blurred by bloody spurts of war,
Scarred by deadly blasts of bone
And tissue, his vision marred
By chunks of men that shook him down
Into the oozing mud of sorrow,
And unscrewed the sockets of his soul,
Blasting windows that once shone luminous,
Into dark pools of madness, mocking
The watch he had to keep that night.
He stopped his ears against
The final cries of men turned babes,
Moaning for mama or a medic,
Gasping for a hand upon their head,
As prayers and curses were sucked
From bodies by the piercing blows
Of guns, while rockets puked
Hellish flames that blotted
Out the stars, until darkness
Swelled into a symphony of pain,
And his heart choked with agonies
He could not stop to heal.
I have learned to fasten his gaze
With the soft gauze of understanding,
A fabric thrown across the room,
Rich with memories between us,
Like rose petals sweetening the air.
I can still delight his eyes and lure him
From the tangled jungle pits he digs
And show him patterns of new mercies,
That reveals the hidden weaver of our days,
The keeper of our steps upon this turf
Of life, turned gentler now.
I drape and wrap, twist and thread
My warless arms around him,
Still fingering the loom of prayer.
Murmuring vows over his embattled brow,
I draw him underneath our tent, pitched
In the heat of hard fought love.
Copyright © Mary Patricia Anthony | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Mary Patricia Anthony Poem
Eye to eye with
innocence,
I kneel before the
fawn
That cannot feel the
breath
I hold in reverence
For her soul.
Nevertheless, I
yearned
To see each molecule
Of wilderness
Slain between us.
Her stillness I have
learned
Is a monument of
grace.
The turning of her
head
To mine, a
wonderment,
A painting,
Framed by barren
branches,
Fingers wrapped in
snow
Spelling hunger
For this moment.
Now caught in this
thin place
By gentleness, I’m
taught
To wait until our
eyes
Unlock, since we are
strangers.
I belong
To another race,
much wilder:
We spit out death by
fire.
Yet she bruised
My brutish soul.
Copyright © Mary Patricia Anthony | Year Posted 2014
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