Left Out (Poetry)

Mary is out on the street long after dark
in the cold and wet — all seasons find her —
she has no other place to be.

She’s searching for her mind — it’s lost
mislaid or stolen. She insists
she had one once and she remembers
something of a life before this.

She was a nurse and she belonged to someone —
she feels it still — that tug of separation
the bridges down and no way off
her small dark-clouded island.

And children — there are voices in her sleep
that call and call and call —
those echoes never leave her
she never got to see them grow.

That pain is with her like a heavy shawl
living on her shoulders — curse and comfort
and private proof of who she was.

She’ll never know what crazy love possessed her
                and betrayed
reason with another game of rules
she had no means to follow — failed to see
the warning signs — the danger — how far out
                she’d drifted...

Who left who is academic now —
the yawning gap of many years and miles
uncrossable — and shadows take their place
in the doorway where night conceals her bed
and passing angels hear her at her prayers.