MERCY

I didn’t know every poem
was a love poem.
She believed it-
Invisible or indivisible
she overcame the odds
Same pitch,
new fight,
new itch for life's delight-
Where have I heard that?

People in your way, hon?
Her father took the girl,
sixteen to a rich man's home.
She wrote,
“I like your house."
He married her.

I want that Sunday love..
Midnight visions,
whisky sour.
The can of wolves to sign
on the line,
again-

Hush of hearts,
prey, pray, and pay our prayer
Bloody Heavens, Martha!
Jesus!
She’s homeless.
She likes chicken pot pie
again and again,
the way it used to be
on her table savory,
like mercy-
- Tiny Poet, Mercy, 8.19.2017
Writings on the Wall Exercise Series