Thoughts on the Steps of Butler Library - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

And you couldn't have known me,
couldn't have loved me
like I thought you did
even though your kiss
was a gift each time
upon my brow

and now,
I think upon those times,
      how much of that rush
was me
reading between the lines
of our affection?

Under this vast sky
of deepest blue
amidst the flocked
cry of starlings
from atop these majestic
columns
I am moved

moved by what
this deep blue sky
this flock of birds
these wispy white clouds
can do to me

and yet,
is it not I
who makes them 'moving'
lest everyone should stop,
gape and sigh
at this night's wonderful gifts

as I debate
whether there was love
and not just lust,
between the sheets
of you and I.

By Mary E. Lohan

What are They ... - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

Photo by Shack in the Swamp Photography

What are they these Rubenesque drifters
that layer, like skin, this stratified sky,
     impartial to none, to above nor below,
but do cry

they that sit upon Heaven's shelf
     that cradle the daystar with their faith
and metamorphose into resplendent pillows
     where retired halos lay

they that melt, blending smooth as cream into dusk
     or fluff, like whipped thick egg whites
to be brushed in masses between the amethyst
     cadmium, lapis splashes of eventide,

can you decide?
 

By Mary E. Lohan

Progress - A poem

Charts,
points of
flux:

     high, low,
     plateau

we plot for
progress

itch for
growth.

By Mary E. Lohan

Oceancrest B&B (2014) - A Poem

Misty darkness
the thrumbing windshield wipers
the flared "flow this way"
mark on roads that look
like arrows -- to us Americans

it sits back from the Atlantic
at the base of a stairway
an open invitation
to the Promenade

I have come to breathe
find myself once again
in the sunsets and panoramas
that inspire awe.

By Mary E. Lohan

Instructions on How to Clear Your Troubled Mind - A Poem (From "Speaking to the Darkness")

Calculate the misdeeds, list them, itemize them,
affix bold headings like Blame and push through

don't bother being fair
fairness is meant for those you respect

don't bother being polite
rudeness comes naturally and is a measure of might

yes, calculate the misdeeds
list them meticulously, then cite the wrong and the blame

then wonder why this list
(although the names differ) is always the same.

By Mary E. Lohan

The Mechanics of Birth - A Poem (from "Four Folded Corners")

They don't tell you
     that you'll have to lie flat
     on your back
     hold your own legs
     from behind your knees

and pull them toward you
     as close to you
     as your bulging belly will allow

and that he may criticize you
     for not knowing how to push
     for not taking Lamaze.

You've only known him
     as the small, gray-haired
     Russian    who barely smiles
     tells you you've gained too much weight --
     this being your first is no excuse.

They don't tell you
     he may deny you an epidural
     when you can't bare it any longer.

Initally,
    you said you'd try
         to go Natural
    but that was before
    the labor peaked
         paralyzing you.

Or that
     he might wait too long
     and then,
          you'd have no choice.

Natural childbirth
     Pushing
     How can one push "wrong"?

"Breathe, hee hee hoo hoo," she says
"When you feel the need to push, do so,
and hold til I count to ten."
The nurse thinks she's helping.

She counts, but she's distracted.
Her counting slows down, is off beat --
"Hold it -- no -- don't make a sound,"
but I release off cue.

Failure
A failure at pushing
at giving birth to my own son.

Time to hold my breath, wait,
expel --

We're like two rhythm-less dancers
on the floor --
I'm up to 10, she's on 8
I can't wait,
expel.

They don't tell you not to moan or groan
beforehand --
wasted energy --
but you can't speak.

My face reddens up,
cheeks puff up,
vessels pop beneath my eyes.

Baby's on the brink of crowning

"You have to try harder," he says,
"He can't stay that way much longer."

And all I can think of
     because I'm muted in pain
is someone save my baby.

I scream, fuck the rules
I push and scream, I still can't speak
     Push, push -- help.

Within moments, he cuts me,
     and my son slides free --

He's wriggling but quiet,
I look at my husband and cry,
     "Is he okay?"

"He's fine... beautiful," he says,
     "Lie quiet."

In a flash, he is weighed
     I hear his cry,
and he's cleaned,
     dried.

And his eyes ---
     opened wide.

He lies in my trembling arms
     a big, head-full-of-hair boy
eyes blinking through the balm --
     Hi, Mom.

By Mary E. Lohan

What Lays Hidden - a Poem

What lays hidden
flutters
begs attention
until one day
I utter
a mention
and all that
flutters
flies away.

By Mary E. Lohan

Nurse - A Poem

How very little can be done under the spirit of fear - Florence Nightingale

I lie on the table
striking a pose
for the ultrasound tech,
half on my back
right arm bent
over my head,

the doctor arrives,
a round older man,

a needle of lidocane
then pressure,
an extended buzz,

a breast biopsy is not fun,

still, it's the nurse,
who gets my
attention,

she has grabbed
my hand mid-procedure
is hunkered in close,
talking about "La La Land"
and other light fare

her attention on me
doesn't waiver,

"Squeeze my hand
if you have to,"
"I'm okay," I say
brave

I'm surprised
how shakey I am
afterwards

"likely the
epinephrine"

she steadies me
stays with me,
wraps my wounds
carefully

we are like sisters
talking about boys,
altho' the topic is
about wounds
and infection

she sends me off
with an icepack, ace
bandages wrapped
tight about my breasts,
and advice,

and when I arrive
home, I am calm,

as if she is still there,
hunkered in,
holding my hand,

somehow,
her spirit has stayed,

and I am less
and less afraid.

By Mary E. Lohan

Note: A very special thank you to Nurse Carmella at Ocean Medical Center 

Pink Moon, Old Moon - A Poem

Wispy white clouds
a golden, brilliant sun
slowly surrender
to twilight
and there you are
white wafer moon
greeting me

like you have greeted
my father,
his father,
my people,
all people,
since the beginning,

bearing witness
guiding tribes

     the pink wave
paints the Great Plains
under your nightlight,
     parents hide eggs
for children,
a Sunday delight

the prayers of millions
will be said
      soft and slow

for those delivered
     safely
for the One who gave up
     bravely

within your sight.

By Mary E. Lohan

What Made Me Cry - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

It wasn't
boarding the plane
with my preschool child,
his face reddened
from crying,
from not wanting
to leave Dad
from fearing the new,
the unknown,

or holding my toddler
for seven hours
straight
in the airport
on the plane,

or that I made
several trips
to the onboard
bathroom
to change
a Pamper
to play
in the sink
to change
a Pamper
to play
in the sink
to accompany
my older  son,
to change
a Pamper
to play
in the sink,

It wasn't
arriving in Ireland
tired
beleaguered
worn down
from contemplating
the state of us
of our marriage,

it wasn't the nights
of struggle
trying to get the kids
to sleep
without you,
in a pitch black
back-country room,

together --
a toddler
and preschool child
with battling bottles

it wasn't
from feeling alone
or unsure,

it wasn't
the returning flight
delayed
leaving us additional
hours to fill

or that my mom
was overtired,
having not slept
from an excursion
to the pub
the night before,

it wasn't
the added trips
to the bathroom
to the plane's kitchen
or me following
one son, after another,

or holding
the smaller one
on my lap as he
played with someone
behind me

or that I hadn't slept well
in over a week,
or that I couldn't sleep
on the plane,
although I had
been awake
for more than
24 hours

it wasn't because
I sat on the floor
while the plane
was in the air,
so that my sons
could lie down
using my seat
to stretch out on,

     it was the passenger
who approached me
as I sat on the floor
beside my toddler,
     who leaned into my ear
and whispered in a soft,
kind, reassuring voice --

"You're such a patient,
wonderful mom."


By Mary E. Lohan

Revelation - Poem (From "Four Folded Corners"

girl child hides
in food stamp lines
behind mother's skirt,
     legs,
          coat,

afraid of faces,
     eyes,

studies floors
     tirelessly

holds her mother's hand tighter

     and asks in a whisper
twenty years later

where have all the men
     in this family

gone?

By Mary E. Lohan

Period - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

It is here
where I make the mark,
where I put a halt
to all the words that came before,

the rush of letters
that square dance their way into formation
around the numerous
open spaces of the line.

The strength it takes
to make this dot

     and yet,
what a mighty
tiny
blot     of ink.

By Mary E. Lohan

Oasis - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

To my boys

without trying
     you saved me
by being


By Mary E Lohan