Reliable Mary provides a seat at the table for every voice in her midst
Through her unlatched door, they march in full of mercurial eclectic notions
And settle for ease in cushioned seats to fill her wallpapered room
With tales of great love and exotic pleasures discovered in moonlit tropical bays
Her visitors regale our dear Mary with movement and light
And expound upon full worlds lived far beyond this quaint lane.
Mary’s eyes glisten and brim as requests pour in to remain in the comfort of her familiarity
And she doesn’t protest when they placate her with pretense of similar constant form
She nods and smiles and she ushers them through to calm respite from their whirlwinds
And she tucks these strangers into the crisp corners of her white world, covering each with a lofty duvet
She creaks the doors shut for privacy sake and moves down the hall for the same
Then silence ensues as she turns down the lamps, to the lowest possible hum.
And then pale, dark Mary makes her way to the only room she really understands
It’s dusty and tattered, unkempt and ecru, full of things without any purpose
And she sits cross-legged, and brushes her hair, overwrought on her wrought iron bed
In the mirror she can almost imagine the person she is, or could be if given a chance
Fear and longing captured in the same heartbeat that pounds
So she practices answers to questions unasked, before planning the menu for tea.
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Written for a dVerse Poets challenge, a few years ago, which was: “Today I am going to ask you to think, reflect, and then write about invisibility.” This was my first time participating.
