My mother’s Mary looks out over books, pots, odds and ends
her wooden features softened by the years
watching our lives spread out into her kingdom.
This room and its idol witnesses together.
They watch our books, pots, odds and ends gather
our lives held within four walls and the eyes of a statue.
We fold away our pasts into boxes
store our memories in labeled zones:
joyful summer days in one corner
fights and hollow reconciliations in another,
reduced to piles and labels and furniture
with plenty of room to spare.
I wonder if I knelt amidst the books, pots, odds and ends
to pray to Mary’s fading impression
if she could spread the piles out into the corners of our house
and make it feel like home again…
My mother’s Mary watches our lives culminate here,
our climax held within four walls and the heart of a statue.