The Poetry of Mary K O'Melveny



To be blessed, I always thought,

was like being able to walk on water.

A miracle of positive thinking.


Safe while everyone around you sinks

or falters, arms and legs thrashing like cymbals,

while you still hear the sun’s bright orchestral chords.


To be blessed, on the other hand,

was what the sales clerk said about the day you should have

as she wrapped up your holiday gifts and tied the little bows.


To be blessed was to have your best friend of 45 years

remember your name again as you walk with her

through once lovingly planted lush gardens.


I can still see her lavender and lupine,

laurel and lobelia.  I shade my eyes against

the shine of orange koi darting past lotus blossoms.


To be blessed is to see two eagles nesting in a treetop

as I drive home from running dull errands,

listening to radio chatter about terrifying times to come.


To be blessed is to listen to Miles Davis

Kind of Blue and Sketches of Spain

offer reveries of calm and cool.


To be blessed is knowing that even the fierce rage

that fills my body like fluid fire climbing up wooden walls

might be tamped down a bit if I took a walk in my woods


down past the stream and the little waterfall.

As my boots kick leaves away, I head for the pond

where I will think about walking on water.             





my . artist run website