Poems by Mary-Lynne Monroe



You opened the door
Your studio beyond
Inviting me in
Encouraging me to look

When I saw Her
In undone form
Sitting on your easel
I whispered,
It’s me.

You grinned,
I thought so too.

We looked at her
The sketch of Our Lady.
The snow-covered field.
The woods beyond.
The naked woman
Stepping boldly
Her own path
Through the snow.

I turned my gaze to you,
Friend of my heart,
Sister of my soul.
Between us,
That look encompassed
Years of knowing
A lifetime of sharing
All in those brief, long years.

I wanted you to see her.
She spoke to me,
Came to me,
From your spirit, I think.
You spoke of traditions
You neither knew
Nor wanted to know
Calling you
Because they called me.
I took that image
Home with me.
To my dreamtime.
Where the Lady
Haunted and watched
Calling me
Home to the cold,
Barren land
Of Clarity.



Dear Good Student Self,
Today I woke with a start.
A thought drifting through from Dream:
You don’t have to follow directions.


I’ve always done assignments
in the manner written.
Isn’t that correct?
The right way to do it?

Well, yes.
Excepting, of course,
those times I didn’t.
Didn’t follow directions.
Didn’t do the assignment.
Got overwhelmed
and behind
and gave up.

I’ve always been
an obedient student
a follower of rules
Until I wasn’t.
The very thought
that I don’t have to follow directions
is rebellion itself.
Do the assignment my own way
Because, after all, it is
my time,
my money,
my class.
Besides, I no longer have anything
to prove
nor anyone
to prove it to.