Hail, Mary, full of grace.
my statuary mother
In the front garden bush

Overseeing the house that
I will miss like the blessed womb

with the gentle rocking of its familiarity
the gurgling pipes
the creaking wooden frame
that cried every time the wind blew

the closet where my brother and I
scrawled our names
before we knew how to write in cursive
and after we first became afraid of being forgotten

My patron saint Mary
You have more prayer inside you
than leaves rustling outside
but you blended both
all at once, all the time

The Lord is with thee,
Is with both your upturned palms
coated in bird shit and grass clippings
as you peered through my window

mothering in silence:
a grim face that bestowed
deep love
deep judgment
and a deep love of judgment

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners

now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.