Ground of Being (A Plea to the Blessed Virgin)

The towering gates sweetly sing at the gentle provocation of the Spirit

Thickened frames perched upon mousy faces scamper down the marble hallways

The workers in the basement *cling* *clang* and *sing* the latest Gospel laughter

As the scent of spices, earthy grounds, and sugar-laced temptations cling to the ever-humid air.

Mother Mary appears before me, draped in the most brilliant starlight

Her silken gown enamored with flowering billows

Singlehandedly uniting the heavens and the earth; the mortal and the celestial

The hem of her garment clutched in the hands of the cherubim

Exalting her upon their darkened crescent

One of the workers exclaims expectantly, holding a wine of wavering,

“Milk and honey?”

Within these two nouns lie the expectation and desire of the earth

Yet Mother Mary, the giver of Life, who sustains through her offering

Stands solemnly silent, frozen in her picturesque frame

Beside her, the glassed window stares, cracked and scratched from the dalliances of uncaring lovers

Oh, if only someone would throw open and expose those pa(i)nes,

Then perhaps she wouldn’t bear it, reflecting our gray and dreary tomes

For she believes that she protects us from the torrent of hell outside

When we’ve been able to see through her all along.

Mother Mary, move from your stagnant perch!

Answer the exuberant and unsure song of praise and waiting!

Throw open these windows so that the rain may pour in,

Anointing our crowns to heal the wounds such fragile hearts have endured!

Cry in joy at the blessing that may never be received:

That these workers be liberated from these intoxicating enchantments

And new, fresh breath can fill our lungs,

To sing along with those ancient, heavenly gates!