Maffy
Maria
I am Maria, she says. My name is Maria. I am called Maria,
She declares, as her light-fading eyes look into my silent ones.
The sun is about to set.
Then night will fall, and she will insist:
It’s the weather because darkness falls quicker these days.
I see her as she sees herself.
Tall, strong. A reigning queen.
Ordering her orderlies to put things in order.
Moving swiftly, her arms holding out, reaching out—
To hold more, to be more. Throughout her life.
The church calls. There are charity balls.
She must give this. She must do that.
She has to, all because she is all in all.
Then, she lost them all.
Memories sometimes silence her words.
Ear-splitting screams. Then, intolerable silence.
Burning rubber, paint. And stench of flesh. Precious flesh.
They were here. She can see them, she says,
If only she can but move her head.
If only her wrinkled, gnarled, bony hands,
Could once again do what they did.
She will let them see her smile. Once again.
And marvel that she is their maker—
That they are hers. All hers. Forever.
She makes to rise, but I help her back in.
No, you can’t, I whisper, my eyes about to burst—
Into a thousand streams. Streams held back.
Yes, she says, I can. Let me try once again. Just once.
They are waiting for me. Can’t you see? She asks.
And I must hurry. So much to do. So much to do, she repeats.
Where are the helpers?
We are here. We are here, they all answer together, smiling.
You are to try no more. We have been waiting—
Since we went away. Come. Join us now.
I am Maria, she says. Joyfully. Finally. I am here.
Then, my eyes burst into a thousand streams.
- Maffy V