by Michael Brett
While we slept, on the eve of civil war, the leaflet arrived:
Slipped through the front door, strangely
Disguised like a long-lost relative;
A picture of Mary drawn in pencil,
Photocopied in hundreds until the drum grew hot,
Leaving her streaky, fuzzy, blurry.
Her hand was like a torch over a crouching nation
Contained in a boy and girl.
It had no printer nor publisher's name, as the law demands:
No boasts of strength, no setting straight of arguments.
No soldiers waving firearms at the reader.
Our last hope-it didn't say- is in this blurred image,
Barely visible, like a high tide marker post
In an inky distance, Thames river fog
Where tug boats move unseen like rumours.
Mary of Medjugorje, Mary of Byzantium,
Mary is on both Catholic and Orthodox sides.
~
Copyright © 2013 - Michael Brett
Published: 5/16/13 · Author's Page · Next Poem