Brandi Kary- A Poem

Madonna

People came

to see

our old tree

the one carved

 by lightening

the summer of 1983

Some say they could

still hear the embers burn—

The crackles of miracle

the shape of the Virgin

Mary, her tilted head and all.

  

And what did I know at nine years old?

about mothers

about virgins

about miracle

But there in the summer heat

men came crawling in shame

with bloody knees

and sins in their pockets.

Gum wrappers

in the shapes of nightingales

the bursting pores of sweet oranges,

braided bread, polished coins,

carnations, candles, and the tears of their mothers.

Once in awhile

one would come

with a newborn in her arms

she would lay her snowy breasts

inside the hollowed tree

red rubies among the ashes

and she would pray for milk

and she would pray for us all.

I would stay,

I would wait

until I grew bored by prayers

and bored of women

and bored of what

I could not understand.

I’d go inside to eat popsicles,

thumb through the shopping catalogs

and sing in the living room

 with my sisters

 to Madonna

playing on the radio.

For years I continued to dream

of the virgin in the tree—

she was always pink, she was always blue

and my own mother was always there

resurrecting through the bark and roots

and mom was dressed like Madonna,

fishnet tights, ruby lips,

leather bracelets,

black crop top.

She had a gift

maybe a chicken

sometimes a pig

always my former self—

she would tell me to pray

and I would say

I don’t know how

I don’t know

what that means.

This dream continues for as long as I can remember—

as dreams often do.

That morning of mother’s death I

drove 86 miles north to the old house

to that old tree that stood in the middle

of the landscape of my childhood.

And I sat to listen for the women of my past

their prayers like secrets

while the sun burned a hole through my back.

And I knew then what I knew as a child

 that something

 had to be done

about all these dreams

and women

and just like you

already know

what’s going to happen next,

I knew it too.

There with the fading sun

I cranked up Madonna

on the car stereo

and together  

we sang the mantras

of my youth:

Like a Virgin, Open your Heart, Justify my Love,

Like a Prayer, Express Yourself, Deeper and Deeper,

True Blue, Crazy for You, Dress you up in my Love,

Holiday, Border Line, Rescue Me, Material Girl,

Papa Don’t Preach, Lucky Star, Ray of Light,

Who’s that Girl?

That girl is me.

________________________________

Bio:

Brandi Kary is a mother, educator, and writer who lives in Pacific Grove, California. She currently teaches English and Creative Writing at Monterey Peninsula College and Cal State Monterey Bay. Both she and her anthropologist husband enjoy dragging their kids all over the world to gain inspiration. Her poetry has recently appeared in Homestead Review, The Voices Project, and Flutter Poetry Journal.