Communion Girl

All posts tagged Communion Girl

The Accident

Published April 25, 2013 by rlmcdermott

It did not belong to her,
it was not her memory;
yet, she remembers the
day–the white church with
the green roof, the sun hot
on her face, her mother and sister
lingering on the church steps,
the priest surrounded by young girls
and then the sound.

They all turned their heads,
one head on one neck,
twisting muscle, grinding bone,
turning, turning toward the sound.

It was before air bags,
before seat belts,
before soft metals
and rubber bumpers–
everything was hard.

It did not belong to her;
it was not her memory;
but she remembers–
the doors snapping open,
three white birds falling
to the ground, the open
mouth of her mother,
the blue eyes of the priest,
the smell of jasmine and incense,
a young girl screaming
and, then, silence.Communion Girl


Published September 12, 2012 by rlmcdermott

why them
why those
two girls
why that house
with the gray porch
and a mimosa growing
in the front yard

the old man
the apple tree
the factories
the gas station
the seven-eleven
the neighbor’s dog

nothing made
a difference

could you
hear them at night
could you
see them in the window
waiting to be seen
waiting to be loved

did you hear them
singing songs
writing poems
pretending to
be someone else

one heard voices
the other one
starved herself
hoarded pills
kept a butcher
knife underneath
her dress

she meant
that one

a cat has nine lives
a little girl has only one