A Visit from the Unholy Ghost

Jane Kenyon had it right:

Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet
on the coffee table, lean back,
and turn me into someone who can't
take the trouble to speak; someone
who can't sleep, or who does nothing
but sleep; can't read, or call
for an appointment for help.


There is nothing I can do
against your coming.
When I awake, I am still with thee.


I am grateful that I understand God--the HOLY Ghost--is still with me too, and He is greater than depression. That doesn't mean I don't feel the unpleasant talons of this unwanted visitor clawing at my poor, battered brain. I feel it, until I don't feel anything.

I am completely shocked at the shell I've become in such a short time. I'll return when I can. Until then I rely on your kind prayers.

love,
mair francis

Rainy Day Poem

My friendship with a poet has wonderful secondary gains. He baptizes me in poetry, and as a result, I'm writing poetry again. I still can't claim that I'm a poet, but writing poems is good to me. And good for me.

Here's one from today, after being out in the rain:

No Words

Today I walked outside;
the sky was a womb
and the Great Gray God
my Mother.

Her damp silver
fingers played
with all my exposed
parts. I think
I felt Her
laughing.
Or maybe crying.

I'm never sure of this.

I was not cold.

Water,
wet earth,
and fresh bathed blossoms
scented Her dark Body
and Her watery voice said
nothing in particular;

Mama said, in Her aqueous,
saturating voice,
no words at all.

...

No words,

which comforted me.

cmf