(Poem) Lest I Be Accused of Mariolatry by Barbara Daughter

Lest I Be Accused of Mariolatry

Years later I heard her

Mocking derision

Like an echo.

As though the Saints

And Holy Water

Could heal,

Would heal,

What her prayers had not:

A brother whose legs would not walk,

A sister whose mind would not work.


Taken back to the site of

Her alleged betrayal,

Instead I wonder at the

Magnificence and beauty

Of the images towering above


With love, eons ago.



The fine line

Between the praise I have for the filament

Connecting me to Divine

And the one you’re afraid I’ll worship

Instead of your tightly-controlled take

On the nature of numinousness.