Thursday Night Meeting

The women of the Thursday night meeting
have eyes as lively as a hockey brawl,
hearts tough as sparrows, tender as men,
feet tired from ten-hour workdays,
spirits weary as trampled grass,
resilient as music.

The women of the Thursday night meeting
(once too young, too cool for their own good,
now in their forties)
sit knitting blankets or scarves or hats.
With one dapper man among them,
knitting—fortunate, absorbed.

The women of the Thursday night meeting
drink fierce black coffee or check Facebook
as the big truck driver—red mug stubbled gray—
breaks down giving a share:
reunion with a long-estranged daughter
soon to be married.

The women know these stories.
They've lived them.

The Lovely & Lucky Lushes
are luminous and wounded,
beautiful and ordinary, holy and broken.
They read the Big Book, pray the Serenity Prayer;
they've been to more churches than the Cardinal.

Women of the Thursday night meeting,
I would help you carry your burdens,
I would watch the cat as you go Christmas shopping,
I would serve you pancakes on a Sunday morning,
I would make your sore hearts smile.

Pray for me, dear ladies
of bruised and healing souls,
defeated and triumphant bones,
bodies no longer fresh and reckless;
wise wonderful women,
humble-hearted, higher-powered:
teach me a tenth of your patient endurance.




Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 176 times
Written on 2017-10-15 at 06:44

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Lovely poem. Well done.

You play with metaphors well. Fantastic!


Twelve Poems
by Thomas DeFreitas