I saw Her twenty years ago at the Grand Opening
of a Tom Thumb Page in Carrolton. She
was in the frozen food section, performing
Brahms on a cold white grand, surrounded
by frozen broccoli and turkey burgers.
Blonde hair piled high, arms like cannons, She wore
a red formal, red lips, a double strand of pearls.
Oh Goddess of the flash freeze, and the quickie meal!
If I had cried out to You right there in aisle number 8,
Would You have taken me to your ample bosom? Would You
have told me truly that Life is both high culture and TV dinners?
Two years ago, She was in the children’s chapel
of the Plano 9th Ward. Aged four, She delivered
a wee sermon on Christ’s love for his creatures.
She hadn’t a clue—soteriology, eschatology, missiology,
demonology, angelology, the history of the Church,
the tenets of the faith—passed Her completely by.
No matter. Her Mother whispered prompts; She echoed them.
Oh Heavenly Mother! If I had implored You right there
at the children’s pulpit to remove my doubt, would You have said,
“Patience! All will be revealed,” or, would You have repeated words
whispered by yet another Mother, and would it have mattered?
Last year, I saw her wiping tables
at a bakery on Preston Road, Her hands
hastily gathered dirty plates and soiled napkins.
The salvific miracle of Her gray rag and spray bottle
filled with lemon-scented disinfectant, rescued
customers from the plague, this year’s flu,
hoof and mouth—whatever else might ail us.
Oh Queen of the menial wage! I am surrounded by all that is unclean.
If I had dropped to my knees right next to Your janitorial caddy,
Would You have swept Texas free of the unworthy image,
Would you have wiped bigotry and greed off the counter?
I was with her at the Collin County Courthouse,
yesterday. Attorneys deliberated Her financial fate.
She’d been cast off like a squeezed lemon.
Wearing a tweed suit, a thin gold chain,
She meditated on divorce. Hands folded, eyes closed,
imperturbable as the Buddha, She accepted
that the life She had known was over. Selah.
Oh Heavenly Consort! If I am ever abandoned and pleading
my case in the Collin County or some other courthouse,
rouse Yourself, slam Your fists on some table, any table,
and swear to me that all will be well, and all will be well.
"Sightings: The Heavenly Mother in North Central Texas" - Elisa Eastwood Pulido