Mary-Jane Duffy

Here we give thanks

(after Gregory O’Brien)


Because the jugs spring
from the mind of Mary (or is it the angel?)

visible over the hills
of the promising land, we begin

to gather them to us.
Now they crouch

in the kitchen light—a crowd
of well wishers that pitch

and list in the weather of the house.
A tall jug reassures

a woman ‘on the brink
of something’; another

buzzes lips between the sighs
and lows of the percussion

section. One has a handle
so generous it may

run the cup over.
Ah, little congregation of jugs

how you pout
over pregnant bellies.

Who is the father?
Elsewhere jugs

live beside the hills,
the lamp, the tau cross,

the kumara pit. A speech
bubble appears. We guess

at its finely crafted message
not wanting to assume the obvious.

Author’s Note

Sources

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