Our Lady of Lourdes

On a clear night,

it could thunderstorm.

On a clear night,

I saw Mary in my cup

of tea, floating like a lily.

Golden roses leapt out of her eyes.

Light without electricity.

This is an apparition.

This is not my own face,

rippling in the water.

You’ve got me singing the blues

of your elegant draping, the ringlets

of your hair. Is this what it means

to be a vision?

Something to be seen when

we least expect it? Startled.

I’ve spilled this tea all over the newspaper.

As it tipped, I could have sworn I heard

something crying.