Richard St. John: Maria’s Song

Wonderful poem by my friend Rick St. John.

Vox Populi

An old story: the girl was pregnant, had spent

the night on the streets of Washington.  It looked like

she’d come for a green card, or maybe to get warm


and to sneak our office bathroom. We never do this,

but I let her in. “I’m here to see my aunt, she works

to keep clean this building.”  “They’re only here at night,”


I explained.  But there was something luminous

about her.  Even the Congressman saw it

as he passed through.  She was crying, then,


but when she calmed, we sent her down

with an aide and pass to peek for a moment

into the chambers.   But she didn’t stop at the parted door –


she must have seen her aunt, cleaning something spilled

in the west aisle, and who could’ve guessed, the timid girl

barreled right in, with a host of House guards



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