Vale Dicere Ave Maria Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

what if she never wanted

your pedestals of rosy clouds

the apotheosis of cornflower blue and


the gold roses at her feet, the myrtle and the lilies sweet

painted by the mystic painters.

Our Lady among cherubs


and the visionary


coronated by angels

or anunciated

amid the Italian cypresses


and the archways

in a formal view.


her name was Mary.

she bore Christ when

she was very new.


the spring tide in her heart

was God alone and she loved wildflowers,

the sun. her household.


to be the only one up at dawn.


the air after the rains.

why would she need


to be robed with such complications

to be lifted into starry names.

to become the subject of hymns.


she bore Christ.

she was there with him where he was

abandoned


to the agonies we all feel

to such a lesser degree. Rilke's angel

cried: "Thou art the Tree."


but I am the one my mother called Mary.

why would you call me queen of the sea


she would have wondered mystified

at their veneration, o Ivory tower...


mystified in the museums if

time travel had been granted her.

reticent in the cathedrals.


anywhere else instead

she would have said

I wanted to be to ponder the least thing.


why do they call me foreign names


I was only his mother.

I wanted a quiet space;

to be at home, to marvel at the small graces


at table, or sweeping the floors.

his little words at the beginning

honey on the page.


time to think what life had been or would have

without the rage of those who despised Him

who only lived for Love;


with Him so suddenly removed

and then, with John.

what did I need with the glorias


and the kingdom comes


when I was under his star.

my son, my Son.


mary angela douglas 7 october 2019