Donal Mahoney - 2

---

This Dark Morning

If I were a possum
with a tail that long
I too would hang
from a tree limb 
this dark morning
and hiss to frighten
the cats off the deck
away from the food 
and water, and then 

I'd drop from the limb  
and eat as soon as 
that fat raccoon 
climbing the steps
with the lurching sway
of a hungry Grizzly 
washes his food
gobbles his fill
and rumbles away.
​

Beyond the Milkweed

It was her birthday.
She was only five
the dawn we went out
to look at roses
in Grandma's garden
while everyone else
was sleeping. 
She loved them all
every color
but stooped the way 
little girls do
and pointed to
wings of a Monarch
on the ground
splayed by death
fresh with dew
underneath milkweed
Grandma planted
just last Spring 
for Monarchs
to lay their eggs.
She asked if 
it would fly away
and I said no.   
Monarch mothers
I explained
lay their eggs
in milkweed
and then sleep.
That’s why 
she and I 
must be careful 
not to make a sound 
as we tip-toe
over there to the roses
Grandma planted
beyond the milkweed
just last Spring
just for her.
​

Lifts Her Like A Chalice

The weekday Mass at 6 a.m.
brings the old folks out 
from bungalows 
around the church.
They move like caterpillars  
down sidewalks, 
some with canes, 
some on walkers. 

Father Doyle says the Mass 
and then goes back to the rectory 
to care for his mother 
who cannot move or speak 
because of a stroke.

And every Sunday at noon 
when the church is full, 
Father Doyle, in full vestments, 
wheels his mother
in a lump
down the middle aisle
and lifts her like a chalice 
and places her in the front pew  
before he ascends to the altar.

Sometimes at night,
when his mother's asleep, 
Father Doyle comes back to the Church 
and rehearses in the dark 
three hymns she long ago 
asked him to sing at her funeral.

He practices the hymns 
because the doctor said  
she could go at any time.
When that time comes,
he doesn't want to miss a note.
The last thing she ever said was 
"Son, I'll be listening." 
​

Venus Calling Mars at Midnight

Millie calls the hotel at midnight
to tell Willie he didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s the way he didn’t do anything wrong

that’s the problem because a man doesn't
send a girl yellow roses on Valentine’s Day.
Willie is half asleep but awake enough 

to know if he didn’t do anything wrong
why is Millie calling him at midnight.
He’s out of town on the company’s buck

and has a big meeting tomorrow with
a big presentation to give to the board.
He listens for 20 minutes and as soon

as Millie's voice cracks he knows 
a hurricane of tears has begun so he says
he didn’t order any yellow roses.

He ordered three-dozen long-stems
with a jungle of the usual greenery 
in a beautiful vase with baby’s breath.

He figured they'd send red roses because 
he paid enough to buy a botanical garden.
Millie says tomorrow she’s calling the florist 

and giving him Hades but Willie says please don’t. 
He and the guy who took the order are from Mars. 
Willie will pick up red roses on his way back to Venus.
​

Donal Mahoney's Profile
​Go to page 1 of Donal Mahoney's poetry 

---

Pecking Order

We hung suet out
on the deck today
hoping the wrens
would come
and stay the winter, 
nest in the yard 
and next summer 
fill the air with song.

In an hour or so 
the wrens arrived
but minutes later
the beak of a flicker
hammered at them
and they flew away. 

The flicker had time  
for a snack before
a blue jay brusque 
as the weather came 
and took over.

The jay as well 
had a snack before
a squadron of starlings
landed to feast
and Fuzzy the cat 
rolled over the fence
eager to leap.

With the starlings gone
the cat lost interest 
and moseyed around
for a minute or two
and then dove back
over the fence.

With no one around
and the suet deserted
the wrens came back
and ate some more
until the jay came back
and took over again.

Any minute now
we expect to see
the starlings return 
and take over the suet 
for a raucous dessert.
​

​Miss Carol's Dumplings

Every month or so
on a Sunday afternoon
I skip the football game
and get in my truck
and drive out from the city
into farm country
to visit Miss Carol
and get my hands
on her plump dumplings.
Biggest I've ever seen.
Best I've ever had,
terrific with her
legs and thighs.
When she lays out 
her chicken dinner  
on that white tablecloth
I start drooling before
I even get a hand on it.
A farm girl, she says 
she's never met 
a man like me
so nuts am I
about her dumplings.
Usually, she says,
men like breast meat,
when it's moist,
and I allow how I
like that as well
but not as much 
as her plump dumplings
on a Sunday afternoon
and her pluperfect
legs and thighs
​

Twin Sisters, 1948

Beth was always different
marching as she did
to an armless drummer.

Her sister Kate marched
to another drummer,
one with arms on certain days 

but never with a drum 
that caught the sticks Kate 
kept in the air flailing.

When the girls were young
their mom and dad took them out
for walks on Sunday

afternoons in summer.
The girls waved to butterflies
but never to anyone else.

It was hard for other kids
peering from porches
to understand the problem.
 
When the twins were small
they didn't call it autism. 
It had no name on my block.

Now the illness has a name
and different medications
that sometimes temper

but never cure.
The girls are women now
old and living in a big home

with others in a small band
some still playing instruments
no one else can see.

              ♢

Go to page 1 of Donal Mahoney's poetry

Comments?

***