St. Patrick
At a neighborhood bar, Saint Patrick watches patrons who see themselves in a mirror framed by Irish Whiskey bottles. He can see through winter sweaters and respectable boots straight to a red strand of longing in every person’s soul. It’s like being back in the sanctuary where he once lived. Serpents writhe at his feet, and the foremost viper arches its subtle spine, half hidden behind the saint’s right foot. Despite the river dyed green for his feast day, green bagels, green beer, Patrick wears a creamy blue robe embroidered with daisies, innocent flowers opening to the majesty of the sun, but it’s been years since this Saint has seen any sun at all. His severe face contradicts his right hand shaped for blessing. How much memory can a statue maintain? In his decades as a church icon, incense seeping into his painted finish on every holy day of obligation, he has learned to bless what he knows. The man who drinks a nightly pint needs better health; that woman asking for a glass of cider still grieves for her grandmother who died in 1998. I’m here, too, wanting to listen as the band plays a special song written for a friend. I have a notebook zipped into my five-pocket bag, and I hope the Saint will whisper a bit of wisdom to me, something to get me through the winter. He gathers his wispy thoughts and chants, “Bless the beer; may it give each person strength and skill.” He knows from Trinitarian sermons he has two more blessings, and wants to do it right. “Pour down your favor on this bar at the corner of Lakepointe and Mack and grant every person the power of Heaven, flashing of lightning, and the eternal rock of earth.” I walk out into winter, wanting to write it down. A red-gold moon looms on the horizon, larger than the bar, and I add, “The splendor of fire.”
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Dawn McDuffie moved to Detroit in 1968 to teach English at Central High School. Since then the city of Detroit has been an ongoing inspiration. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Third Wednesday, and Feminist Studies, and in the anthology,
Good Poems– American Places edited by Garrison Keillor. Her chapbook, Carmina Detroit, was published in 2006 by Adastra Press. Finishing Line Press published Bulky Pick Up Day in 2011, and a second Adastra chapbook, Flag Day in Detroit, was published in 2012. Her new chapbook, Happenstance and Miracles is available from Finishing Line Press.