And then I called her The Wind Maria
In the beauty of the spring sunshine
I sit and watch
the squirrel running on the
Back and forth as if it had forgotten
something at the supermarket--
speedy tightrope walker.
Hawks soar and fight off the ravens
so recently raided
and the Battle of Britain is reenacted.
Alone smelling the cooking chicken
but not at all lonely
as the memory chips show a Sunday movie.
When I first sat beside her so many years ago
I named her Muzak
as she babbled quietly and unobtrusively.
Pleasant melody in the background
not demanding attention
but always reassuringly there.
Muzak sang of apple pie,
aprons and banana bread
with soft, easily ignored murmers.
Ease and comfort lulled
by a background of peace
and all the world was well.
Then with a sudden startling roar
the babbling of Musak
became the rush of a mighty river.
Glass ceilings crashed about my feet
and cyclone wind
whirled around me.
Equal pay for equal work, rights
a woman’s’ choice to choose
are sung by Maria.
I know not how a babbling brook
turned into a mighty river
nor how Musak became Maria.
But this I do know--the hawk
circling so commandingly in the sky
sparked this memory film.
Perhaps the hawk that glides
so gently and becomes a Spitfire
tells of change from Muzak to Maria.
Doug Minnis /April 2015