Five Poems by Mary Ray Goehring

 

Courir de Mardi Gras – Mamou, La 

 

                 For the refuges of the Acadian Expulsion, “Cajuns”

 

                Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches
               dwells another race, with other customs and language.

                                 Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Gumbo

thick with okra

spiced with filế and red cayenne

in quantities so copious the tongue

permanently scarred and heavy

clings to the spoken french

like roux on the bottom of a cook pot.

 

It’s Fat Tuesday in Mamou, Louisiana.

El Capitaine assembles his mounted krewe

as last night’s secrets still hang humid

in the pea soup morning air—

hinting at revelries yet to come.

 

His cantankerous cavalry

costumed in colourful homemade masks,

shirts and pointy hats

with pants

fringed down the seams

like the frontier buckskin britches

of their Cajun past

 

follow medieval traditions

and run these red clay roads

beg for chickens

and garden goodies—

ingredients for the community pot

and leave behind open invitations

to come

laissez les bon temps rouler

before the fast.

 

Back in town, everything syncopates—

piano

accordion

fingers across washboards, guitar strings

feet

shuffling in circles to

heavy beats of zydeco

 

French Canadian

Caddo Indian

Creole—

the savoury blend of spices

simmering in this gumbo

and coming to a boil

every Fat Tuesday.

Invocation

 

Before light separates sky and earth,

coyotes break open the darkness

in this pre-dawn cathedral

the pack answers its alpha

 

versicle and response

their close cries

 

the word

the conception-sound that begins everything.

 

Usually I hear them answering 

the night train's whistle

 

but this howling

answers nothing human

 

a primordial petition

or declaration

 

not meant for me

yet telling me

 

I am not alone.

Medusa:  The Reproductive Life of Jellyfish

 

      Thanks to the art of Sarah-Jane Crowson

 

Jellyfish, in their immature stage,  

stay attached to the coral reef.

In their Medusa, reproductive stage,

float bells-open among the plankton.

 

During the summer of 7th grade

the popular-girl Athena,

driving her clique of horses,

decided to curse me

in my already confusing

Medusa phase.

 

Maybe they sensed

I wasn’t as attached to the coral as I used to be—

Catholic school girl that I was

hanging out with some of the Lutherans.

 

Maybe my bell expanded before theirs

allowing me to drift more intergalactic oceans.

 

Shunned—

in locked step—

the only contact I had

with my parochial school chums

was the name calling

and the holding of noses at Mass

when I passed behind them

on my way back from Holy Communion.

 

Left with my imagination

and a reputation I could never confess to my mother

I read the lives of the saints,

dreamt about unconditional love and martyrdom,

enticed my siblings to stage plays in our basement,

slept a lot.

 

Then, just as suddenly

the curse was lifted.

 

Perhaps it was the basketball coach

clueing the boys in that

a girl with a reputation wasn’t all bad

or the need for a coordinated partner

for upcoming cheerleading try outs.

 

Athena and her horses

now wanting to hang out with me

harness fading, embraced their own inner Medusa

umbrellas open

tentacles dangling

floating the often upside down

cosmic theatre.

Reservoir                                                      

 

This reservoir, 

deep and long where the Sabine River

once sliced between two states

slippery as time itself 

now, a large body of water

covering layers of past life

submerged memories

evolving into something new.

 

    before the dam

    bottomlands, rich and fertile

    hugged the river

 

Sometimes, 

in my boat

drifting these muddy waters

I think I hear them—

those voices of the past

among reefs and remnants.

 

    villages dotted the shores

    a boy chases his sweetheart

 

Here,

there is no tide

only partnerships 

wind and water

old dreams and new lives. 

 

    gardens of Crinum

    Byzantine Glads, mustard greens

    surround back porches

 

Here,

some say there is a church below the water

whole cemeteries

parts of a space shuttle 

that crash-landed, like us, back in 2003.

 

    a school bell rings, roosters crow

    pole-driven ferries oar

 

Here,

we collect the petrified past

mix it with present day pollen

floating this fabric of time                                                     

in a deep, long reservoir of marriage

What April Showers Bring

 

      - after Elizabeth Willis ,"and what my species did"

        and Childe Hassam's "Rainy Day on Fifth Avenue" (1893)

 

My life seemed slightly slanted.

Pushed by an unseen force.

 

The first sign I was off kilter was the vertigo, like riding a merry-go-round.

Unsteady, I take a carriage that day.

 

The ride seemed endless. 

 

That was the day the storm hit.

That was the day I saw him.

 

Walking in the rain.

Holding an umbrella.

Another woman under it.

 

It was not like we were dating, not like we were anything but friends, not like she was someone I knew or anything about their relationship.

 

A dozen times, the following weeks, I felt faint when I thought of him. Vision blurred. 

 

It was not the monsoon season.

It wasn't even storming but the headwinds continued to throw me off balance. I learned to lean leeward.

 

This is why I told him I saw him in the city that day.

This is why he said he helped his sister after her doctor's appointment.

This is how I knew I was smitten and had to tell him.

 

Everything blurred.

This is what we endured. It was 1893 then it was 30 years of marriage.

This is how we learned to love April showers.

Mary Ray Goehring is a snowbird who migrates between her prairie in Central Wisconsin and the pine forests and reservoir on the border between East Texas and Louisiana.  She has been published in several online and print journals and anthologies such at "A Path To Kindness" edited by James Crews, The Blue Heron Review, The Rye Whiskey Review, The Steam Ticket Review, Your Daily Poem and others.