Mary Christine Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Mary Christine, doing tasks, cuts, clearing growth from home, strong laboring acts, long moments hours, retains fighting efforts to a wrong; carries a song: for her lost lover.

She dresses, completely in black, rolling furiously back and forth on her mower, trimming grass, stroll eyes, viewing others see a faceless doll, with blurs; unroll lists to do: alone.

The dawn up ray, beginning her day, out of her home safety break, said, speaking not even a hey, Mary work, do plan way; move lawn items.

She stands as a statue, like a broken clock, silent, joining hands a lock, peering to mock a rock; its vision another of no: seen is black stone.

Hours did labors, endure hot sun, tend yards, dark to bend, vanish, end day, quit efforts, safe in; do a daily trend this: in a fort.

Later, she's seen upstairs, battering herself, sitting in a hater, to cater it, from eyes drips water; chills in solid dark by this window: up stare.

An actress, unfounded, plays a role, absent of an old love, shows white, or total black, stories told, did her; deny gold heart loss: await a return.

Days came, years passed, a memory, thoughts, anger, Mary, blame she dragged full day, shame, rose every dawn, inside a tiny frame; rock: widow.