Читать книгу Habitation of Wonder - Abigail Carroll - Страница 15

Hampton Bays, Long Island

M is for Mary, Mother of God,

patron saint of suburban front lawns,

blue-mantled friend of sinners and pinwheels,

mollusk-studded mailboxes,

moss-dotted patios. M is for Medjugorje,

Massapequa, moon jellies washed up

like useless musings on the shore,

a menagerie of bathers: misguided,

metallic in their shine. Gulls beak marram grass,

mica flakes,

mussel shells, empty packs

of Marlboros. M is for the millions—

the reverent, the mystified—

Moxie drinkers, marina workers,

mahjongg-players, Matlock watchers—

the Madjeskas, yellow lanterns

garlanding their porch, Manilow

on the radio, macramé scratching the backs

of our legs. Cardinals mount

the arch of the holy white

plaster, hop between birdbath and mulberry,

consider the minor miracle

of perpetual posture. Our Lady of

Bay Avenue, of marigolds, milk cans, mayweed,

Madonna of the mullet-anglers,

mooring-fixers, lemon meringue makers:

you preside over mainsail and mizzen mast,

the maintenance of motors,

the scrubbing of mildewed hulls, the spreading

of garden mulch. M is for the fog horn’s distant,

plaintive moan, for plastic mass cards

on the fridge, Montauk daisies in the breeze,

mackerel frying on the stove.