Mary Ellen Graham

Where Is She?

Hidden deep within the canopied forsythia
A child (Mary Ellen) sits cross legged, chin in cupped hands.
A Mom (Lorraine) weeds while a Dad (Richard) mows.
A neighbor (Billy) conquers the bassoon while
Friends Wirth and John call out.
Feet, ankles and knees pass by.
Unsuspecting.
No one knows. No one notices.
Until at last, the mowing ceases, the bassoon retreats, the voices drift
And
Ever so deliberately, crab-like, She (Mary Ellen) emerges.
After all
It is lunchtime!

About Mary Ellen
Mary Ellen Graham never perceived herself as a "writer"; as a teacher and communicator, yes, but "writer" no. Her publications ranged from newspaper articles to promotional pieces with forays into grant writing and workplace documents. Occasionally her faith community would elicit a reflection, a liturgical prayer, even a homily. But poetry came only at rare moments of engagement, with life altering circumstances—and perhaps a visitation from a muse. The poem that appear in this publication is the result of such an occasion.

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Dominique Simpson