Marissa McNamara
The Grace of Full Mary Hail
At our hour, Pray for us,
our muffled whisper words
slipping out of windows like smoke
our plastic love cups in black console holders
offering bent red straws.
Come to us, Our Lady,
Our Vanilla Car Freshener.
Dangle from the rearview.
Sway at stops. I look backward with you.
I see you on the skipping yellow lines.
Oh, Mother of Waiting,
of family trips unfinished--
Stop with us in yellow diners
Anoint us with griddle grease
Raise us up with plastic forks!
Steel is the blessed womb from which we rise
standing to kneel at your feet
heading home past curfew
to mother of perpetual waiting.