And Then I Called Her Maria


And then I called her The Wind Maria


In the beauty of the spring sunshine

I sit and watch 

the squirrel running on the

        telephone line.


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












In writing birthday letters to a number of women family members I was most impresses with the amount of trength family women have had for generation. It is the current generation,however, who have fought and won women's rights. although there is a way to go- a long way- this generation has sure got the moxy to get it done.