Mary Nagy Poems

You're standing in the doorway.
Your workday is all done.
He waits to see you everyday,
this boy that is your son.
...

Once upon a time
when we were young
you caught my eye
like a ball to a glove.
...

Once more we talk about it.
How sad it's all become.
No matter how we look at it
this family is not one.
...

The darkness of the pit
is swallowing you in.
I see you looking at me
with that evil, twisted grin.
...

What is a family picture?
Is it all for real?
Are the people that you see
pretending they don't feel?
...

To look
at your life
and not feel
you need.
...

When you are nine years old
and sifting the seeds out
of your parents pot for them,
you can't really preach
...

You say that you can picture me sitting in my chair.
What is it that you picture when you look from over there?
Do you envision beauty or an ugly, wrinkled hag?
Does my skin give off a glow or do my wrinkles sag?
...

She knew
all I was hoping for
was a little time with you all.
She knew
...

How can a mother not hurt
when her child cries out in pain?
How can she turn and look away
when there's so much to be gained?
...