Concrete Mary
Against the chill of morning
I put on shoes and a warm jacket.
Robins and sparrows scavenge seeds;
Call back and forth from fence to ground
Squirrels in fur coats
Don't mind autumn's approach.
In high grass, a lone cricket
Chirps along the fence
Unafraid of the old man
With an empty coffee cup
Four city deer snort and graze
On overgrown shrubs
Seven days remain of summer
One week, a quarter moon
Before earth tilts away,
Before solstice chases the sun.
As if she knows a secret, she cannot tell
Concrete Mary smiles her Mona Lisa smile
Practices yoga on the wall
And holds asana pose
Mary, when did you become holy?
Was it when they pulled you from the mold,
Loaded the truck, took you to a garden shop,
Tagged, sold and someone took you home?
Or was it the act of setting you on a wall where
Lichen took root and pulled substance from air?
How many tenants have you known?
Do you know movers come on Wednesday?
Sun peers through overcast skies
Warms Mary’s plaster gown,
Outstretched hands gather light,
Her face becomes a moon
Chipmunk chatters at plastic owl
Roosting on the patio wall
Red birdhouse in neighbor’s yard
Sits empty waiting for spring
Rain comes, drips from fingers
Concrete Mary holds her pose
Somewhere Joseph
Holds the baby so nothing disturbs her peace
Rain comes, drips from finger tips,
Puddles at feet; she holds the pose
she struck when she became an Italian citizen
And awaits her son’s reanimation
The Jasper Project thanks board member Al Black for generously sharing his poetry with our readers. Watch for more in the Al Black Jasper Project Poetry Series in days and weeks to come.
Al Black is a writer, poet, host, and social activist. He is the author of two poetry collections, I Only Left For Tea (2014) and Man With Two Shadows (2018) and he co-edited, Hand in Hand, Poets Respond to Race (2017) and his work has been published in several anthologies and periodicals. Contact Al Black at albeemindgravy@gmail.com.