MERCY 

Didn't know every poem 
Was a love poem.
She believed it-
Invisible or indivisible.

Overcame the odds;
Same pitch, new fight, 
New itch for life's delight-
Where have I heard that before?

Were there 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, prey 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.

- J. Circosta
Mercy, ©8.19.2017