Iconography for JM

by Anne Elezabeth Pluto

When I was pregnant
I wanted my mother’s love
instead she fell to her knees
called out to the Mother
of God—to protect me from
dying—but she didn’t go with me
my boyfriend did—in the cold
Manhattan January light
the sun that didn’t reach us
surrounded the silent city.
All I felt was my blood
All I knew was distance
A straight line between
us—it never healed
but I did.

There were nightmares
picking up the daughter
who had her father’s dark eyes
then being left with the
empty pink bunny suit – pressing
it to my hollow chest and sobbing.

Let me lay this down
in front of the Mother of God
in her swirling red garments
her covered dark hair—her
impenetrable eyes—let me
open my heart as wide
as my rib cage allows
every scared memory
falling away.

We were safe—you and I—we made
it back from the anesthesia
induced limbo—we woke up
to a kind nurse who offered something
sweet—to ease the pain—
we bled and dressed and made our way home.

What about our daughters?
All of our daughters?

My mother’s icon faces East
in my kitchen—Mary—she watches
me do dishes—she watches
me—flawed and trembling
She watches me sincere and waiting
She watches me angry
without judgement
without disdain.
She watches me and remembers
my name.