By Marianne LaValle-Vincent
I stare at the old church from across the street in my
Car remembering when I was a regular
A parishioner
A donator with envelopes
It was at least a hundred years ago when I took that
Walk down the aisle with husband #1 in an ivory gown that
Weighed more than I did in true Italian style with
21 bridesmaids parading to the altar
The ceremony lasted longer than the marriage
And the church only recognizes till death do we part
Now I�m a regular at another landmark
Julie�s Place has a lot of similarities to that old church
It�s full of sinners donating to the cause
In any given corner there is always some pontifical know it all
Who overdosed on loud-mouth soup preaching to his fellow
Imbibers on the evils of society
There are weekly worshippers and those who visit daily
And though it may not look like a confessional Al or Nicky
Will listen to almost anything for the right price
On Saturday evenings at about 5:30 the place is packed
Just like that old church
And don�t kid yourself---all the regulars are waiting for a miracle
Praying for redemption
Some of them will even be on their knees before the night ends
Al pours me another drink and I look around
The only thing missing are the pews and the nuns
I�ve donated enough so I head home taking the long way past
Our Lady of Pompei and I decide to go in for a prayer or two---but
The doors are locked
Bolted shut like Fort Knox
Just like Julie�s Place at 2 am only it�s a lot earlier
Or maybe it�s later than I think
Maybe I should make a choice between Holy water and Grey Goose
I�ll give it some thought tomorrow
While I�m down on my knees
***
"Never On Friday"
By Marianne LaValle-Vincent
It was only one day a week
But
I hated going home
To that odor
I swear you could smell the
Muggine in Bianco
Or the
Baccala
From the school yard
I never understood the tradition
I wanted meat
Big fat burgers with
Greasy French fries
Sometimes my mother would put the
Cioppino
In front of me
And I would cry
For meat
Like a cannibal
I craved the taste of the
Flesh
And I would eat behind their backs
At the basketball game
Or the pep rally
Like a heathen
But they never knew
It wasn�t the only commandment I broke
On Fridays
While they ate my Grandmother�s Patate e Tonno
I forgot my religion
Ignored the rules
And pretended ignorance of our
Pope
Now, when my children question
The tradition of the fish
I tell them
�It is only one day a week for you�
But I made a bargain with
God:
I�m a vegetarian
***
"Tastes Like Goodbye"
By Marianne LaValle-Vincent
All those years
I wouldn�t eat onions
Pretending that I hated them, too
And I almost forgot the sweet taste of
Garlic
Because you can�t find it in
BLT�s
Packs of Tic Tacs
Lived in my pockets
Masking the lunches I
Savored without you
And those evenings I spent
Alone
Went so much faster
As I lost myself in a bowl of
Pasta and Beans
I never told you I�ve always hated
Peanut Butter
And by the way
I am good at math
And as I sit in Casa di Copani
Alone with just a ricotta canoli
I picture you
Indulging in your usual feast
Of meatloaf and potatoes smothered in
Ketchup
And I am sorry for my sophisticated palate
And even more for your
Lack of taste
For there can never be a marriage
Between garlic and
Corn Flakes
And I can�t pretend to be
Her
Anymore
***
"Superman"
By Marianne LaValle-Vincent
At night
While he sleeps
I play Betsy Ross
With his uniform
Making the necessary adjustments
To his suit
With the red cape
Sometimes I find it
Tattered and torn
Or soiled from
The flight
Or maybe it has grown
Too large
Sometimes it�s too
Small
But I can always
Fix it
His Identity will tilt
Once in a while
But I never let him don a
Crooked letter S
And if I should find there�s a
Hole
In the legend
I will mend it
And he�ll never notice
And even if he never rescues me
Again
He has earned his title
For I have subjected him to
A hundred pounds of
Kryptonite
That he has weathered
And fought
And on those nights
When I am holding
Clark Kent
I dream the sweetest dreams
Of extraordinary men
Safe in the arms of an ordinary
Run of the mill
Hero
Besides poetry, many of her short stories have been published, including �Understanding Dad� and �A Short Trip to Mentalpause� in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. You can sample her humorous essays and articles on line at Long Story Short, Boomer Women Speak, Cynic Online Magazine and Paul Molyneux�s Laughter Loaf. She was recently awarded a literary grant through Hill House Writers in Nashville, TN., and is invited frequently to lecture at local universities and libraries as well as making guest appearances on local radio and television shows. Marianne is the Poetry Editor for Szirine Magazine and the assistant poetry editor for Future Cycle Poetry.
In another dimension, Marianne works as a Health care sales representative and RN. She still lives in Syracuse with her husband, Tim and 16 year old daughter, Jess. Older sons, John and Al join the family on Sunday with their wives and children to help celebrate Marianne�s greatest passion after writing---cooking and entertaining family and close friends.