The Morning After Sue Died

Judging from their calm repose

these roses on my deck 

have yet to learn the crushing news 

that Sue is gone.

And to my deepening dismay,
the sun shines just as bright today 

as yesterday,
not knowing, I suppose,
that Sue, our beloved Sue,
passed on last night.

And woe, these palm trees sway 

as gently as they did before,
as if nothing’s changed at all
though Sue, lovely Sue,
took her last breath that day. 

But to her friends--sisters--
(Sue made us all feel kindred), 

her sudden most hated death last night 

split our world in two: 

those kinder Yesterdays
when there was Sue 

and these harsh Todays
when there is not.


Sue died September 20, 2011


Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

For a Young Woman Who Died of Addiction

View of Mount Diablo, San Leandro, CA

When your mother spoke of you, she said Lilly

A name that brings to mind timeless light and beauty

And don’t we often speak of love through flowers?

Most especially one so enduring?

She set aside the sunniest spot for you

Bathed and pruned your pedals

Tried to shade your roots from burn

So you’d be ready to flower 

In time for Easter

Who knew how hard it is for lilies to adjust

To a garden environment

Or how stubborn they could be

Not docile like the rose or daffodil

No, lily of the pond, of the valley

You wild, wild flower of Heaven,

Whose nature requires constant priming

Under the most optimum conditions,

Must be protected at all times

Therefore only God can grow a perfect lily

Only He tenders optimum conditions

Only He can force this bud to bloom

In time for Easter

And so one thinks God himself

Chose the lily

Over all others in creation

To serve as His flower of resurrection

Let’s think of Lilly now, abloom

In the everlasting garden

Among countless departed blossoms of every hue

All today in chorus, they are singing:

Oh Lilly, Tis heavenly to be here with you!

Tis Easter every day now with you!


 Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

The Ant and I

Above Half Moon Bay

On this rotting trail

I let an ant transverse.

And note she crosses 

Without a care

of the fast death 

she’s just been spared

beneath my boot.

I revel in my generosity

and feelings of supremacy

tho I know like me

this ant’s returning home

only if her luck holds out.

We are equals, this ant and I

in our respective fates.

Under some plain boot

We both will fall.

And neither knows the dates.

Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

What A Heavy Suitcase, Childhood

What a heavy suitcase 

childhood is.

Packed for us by others 

Far too casually

For such a chancy expedition.

Crammed between the fantasies,

So many cumbersome conceits,

Obsessions, qualms that

Weigh down every choice,

Every wish, every day.

When can we unpack those

Early selves, fold

Them neatly in a drawer

And walk away? 




 Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

Amazing Grace

I stop stirring the pot


or sweeping the floor


or watching TV

and hasten to the porch.

A brilliant copper torch

blazes in the window 


on the hill above.

As if the sun in its descent 

came crashing through the glass

and set that house on fire.

It happens most every night. 


And most every night

I hasten to the porch

or I think about it

and tonight

write a poem about it.

Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

Forever Doesn't Scare Me Anymore

How do you like eternity, mother?

Is it like we talked about, hoped it’d be?

Or did you flee this forsaken rock

To vanish

With countless blazing galaxies

Into oblivion?

You who were so brave, so lavish

Are now, what?

A nameless bit of dust

Meandering

Through the cosmic tomb?

A newborn sun

Scattering light

Across the dark, soundless chasm?

Do my prayers have any power?

If so, you’re heaven’s seraph,

Secure in everlasting fellowship.

I’m listening for an answer.

But only utter stillness

Stands between us, as if forever.

And yet, forever dosn’t 

Scare me anymore,

Now that you’re there.

 Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.

Want to Put Your Head in My Bucket?

Want to put your head in my bucket, Oma?

Nope.

Because you're old?

Yup.

Will you always be old?

Yup.

Do you want to be old?

Nope.

Then put your head in my bucket!