MARY ANN SAMYN
A Chance Meeting / Look Both Ways
Sameness. Gentleness. Mostly.
Any old day. Plucked.
Once in motion, I feel it, a long time.
The waves lapping, still.
Such are the lessons of this life, it seems.
A pulpit. A meadow.
Vowels dark or bright make all the difference.
Youth goes on…
I mean to tell you,
next we meet.
Mid-July, the little beach waits her turn.
The flicker of an old lie. There’s heat there yet.
I watch from nearby. Hidden where everyone can see.
A cat dies in the snow. A stray, maybe. I feel this a lot.
I didn’t insist on my way with you. Should I have?
It’s hard not to wonder what went wrong.
Point to the spot, I tell my students, all of us looking elsewhere.
I talk to my father, too, or try to, like he’s right here.
Ring a Bell
I was given silence so I could listen harder.
And tree-lined streets where I do my best work.
If you come, let’s not talk much, if we can help it.
I tell you so I won’t regret not telling you.
Prayer can be this, side by side.
Or even just holding a memory.
I remember how my mother patted my back gently to start.