Girlhood
I keep coming back to the Virgin
who entered via DNA & lodged
in my growing organs
like the cache of pearly
ova nestled in my fetal ovaries
little promises my childhood
ballast Hail Mary full of grace
theme song of all the Catholic
girls—who obeyed & prayed
never thought much
about our souls
in third grade we danced
a Mary May dance in blue dresses
& swayed with the grace
I would later see in Botticelli’s
young Mary—the way she held
her hands her blue cloak.
We studied everything
about that moment with the angel
when we were eight
but by thirteen we wanted
high-heels & kisses unclasped
our rosaries & rolled our school skirts
short. Mary appeared
in stained glass & blue paintings—
her official pigment—ultramarine
from lapis lazuli elevated
to immaculate icon & called
the Queen of Heaven.
I’d rather think of her in undyed
linen when the angel appeared
far too holy for the unsuspecting
girl who however frightened
knew she must say yes
on that starch-scented afternoon
at the very end of childhood.
Jeri Theriault’s recent awards include the 2023 Maine Arts Commission Literary Arts Fellowship, the 2023 Monson Arts Fellowship, and the 2022 NORward Prize (New Ohio Review). Her poems and reviews have appeared in THE RUMPUS, THE TEXAS REVIEW, THE ATLANTA REVIEW, HOLE IN THE HEAD REVIEW, and many other publications. Her collections include RADOST, MY RED, (M)OTHER, and SELF-PORTRAIT AS HOMESTEAD. Jeri lives in Maine.