Poems from Beauty Breaks In
Mary Ann Samyn
It Most Certainly Is Edged in White
The book of birds knew a little about a lot.
I flipped through.
No one said trying harder would be easy.
A dove’s identifying feature
may or may not be peacefulness;
disjunction had been a performance;
I stopped complaining.
Starting now, no prayer goes unanswered.
I was strung up.
Make Them Howl or Breathe Fire
I was my own angel.
Repeat: I was my own angel.
Something beeped to signal the end of mercy.
Weather swirled just beyond my shoulder.
Had I not been on my knees already.
Had I not grasped the concept.
God likes firm resolve.
I detest all my sins. Above all, ingratitude, the color of which pales, like my skin.
That’s the Jesus I Grew Up With
Lateral, divergent: I’m paying me a compliment.
My God had a heart-shaped heart, and a look.
I never knew what bribe was coming next.
Something was disheveled. Was it my hair
in butterfly barrettes? Was it my grown-up soul?
I led with fear, Mother and Dad; sit down.
Dusk was always the favorite, with its gorgeous regret.
When You Reach an Obstacle
Two calm thoughts in a row. Personal best.
And I owe it all to grapefruit with powdered sugar:
private remedy, going on one week.
and found it—ta da!—in the form of our friend citrus.
No scurvy for me.
No faux-smarts either, thanks.
That stuff is so exhausting.
A lot of people will be headed to the emergency room
given this summer’s most popular sandals: itty bitty heel.
Can’t wear that metaphor, can’t read whatever’s written
on the wall of the poetry I can’t write.
I’m a sensible nonsensical girl, not the other way around.
Mostly, I defer to you.
In a fit of wisdom, you chose me.
What more can I say?