144. Mother Maire (Myshkin, 2021) · free verse

I want to tell you Maire’s story. Not for me, Not for you, Least of all for her. But for the world. We need more hope. We need more love. We need more Maires. I met her on the beach, Waking up in a van, Within earshot of waves and highway 101. I was holding an overripe garbage bag, Wondering what to do with it. I had put it outside before going to sleep, Next to the wheel of the van And also, apparently, next to a used condom. With no trash bin in sight, The whole street becomes one. But here comes Maire to the rescue! With bright intelligent eyes, A baseball cap on, A face well-loved by the sun, Earbuds, And two large trash bags. She cleans up the beach and the street above it Because she loves the ocean, And when it rains, it all spills into the water. I mean, I love the ocean. Who doesn’t?! But Maire’s love is different. It’s visible. She walks the walk. Seeking nothing. Telling no one. So much broken in this world. At least she can do this one thing. And there is more. She is tempted by my lifestyle. With children now grown, can’t she just go? Her husband is terminally ill, No longer big-wave surfing, So fully alive in the picture on her phone. She bears the caretaker’s burden gracefully But it’s showing. So many empty people, So many soulless institutions Puncture holes in the fabric of life, Adding to the looming unpaid tab We all eventually start to bow under! It can be so hard To find meaning To have hope, To just do your part. Maire appreciates my questions, She gets that I’m an interviewer at heart. I read her a poem From my printed-and-bound book. She asks if she can have it. I say, of course! Lying that I have others, But she changes her mind, An excuse to see each other again, She says she will make copies. She invites me to stay at her guesthouse. I offer to bring a few friends, To play music and poetry. Just a gift for her husband, For her engineer son And his singer girlfriend, And for Mother Maire.