Thomas McCarthy

Three Poems


It was Fr. Sydney McEwan who crowned us with blossoms
That day in Cappoquin, a day I slipped off the vortex of childhood
And found myself at your feet, you hardly more than thirteen
And I thirteen and worn down with the weight of my father’s
Humanism, his teaching me that there was no worthwhile
Message from Mary, nothing to be had from allegorical woman
But grief and misunderstanding. I would give it all up for this
Crown of thorns, love that pressed upon my head as the tannoy
Sang in its priestly reverberations, its sweet warmth and holy
Strength, its flowers of evening in the brilliant green of May –
You passed by as if floating on the warm air of a pure faith,
Your spectacularly large eyes the eyes of an angel who must
Have come with Mary; the host of Mercy nuns your adoring
Servants I thought then, hosts who must have only left a
Girl so heavenly out of their sight for an hour of prayers. Oh
God who blessed us to live like old Catholics. Oh Mary, His
Mother, who set you walking; your May outfit blue as heaven.


Comments are closed.