Maria Sleeps Poem by Michael Bergman

Maria sits upon her bed, perched;
Outside the snow-covered sparrows chirp;
Nestled in blankets, the night slowly pass,
As snow falls behind frost-infused glass.

A haze of pancakes and eggs seep;
Maria springs from her warm-induced sheets;
Downstairs, “good morning, dad and mom, ”
As dawn clears of night’s bitter throng.

Breakfast gobbled and black, silken hair brushed,
“Maria, you’re going to be late, we don’t mean to rush”
Hugs and kisses, the aroma of dad’s coffee, sweet;
Mom packs a lunch befitting for a queen.

By the mailbox, for her bus she search,
As a wind propels her scarf atop a spiraling birch;
She flings open the gate, and through the garden with haste
To the garment-snatching limb, white and ice laced.

Above the birch, landscape’s tranquil aesthetic,
Below, the swimming pool, plastic protected;
Reaching for the scarf, slightly out of grasp,
A limb gives way, breath-seizing cold upon her back.

Simultaneous signals to her brain, a frozen fire,
Each breath taken, each breath transpired;
An intrinsic system, implored compensation,
Each struggle, water further encapsulating.

Silence from frigid vocal cords;
Fingers through frozen hair, tore;
In her lungs, the dying of cells;
Letting go, mustering from azure lips, “help.”

When she was found, visage of a sapphire moon;
Lying motionless within a watery cocoon;
A father’s plea, “please, baby breathe”
Her body placed upon cold concrete.

A heart still able, breathing she could not preserve;
Oxygen deprived brain, damaging of nerves;
A cacophony of terms, insignificant numbers;
The sound of machines and unwarranted slumber.

As time elapse and her body grow frail;
Yarns of a child’s gift, told in divine tales;
Healer of wounds, vitality she can restore;
Power of the celestial, she is thought to bore.

Traveling great distance, to a small house they meet,
To gently kiss her hand, lay gifts upon her feet;
Tender weeping, among meek and holy men, alike;
Faith amidst plight, a sacramental site.

A lighthouse glimmers through sullen night air,
Like a white rose through black, silken hair;
Blackened waves, the secrets of their time
Befell and bestowed before brown, tender eyes.


Galaxies expand and violently expire;
Decay of neutron stars, endless waves of fire;
Maria witnesses from her lush garden, green
The life and death of all things, cycles of a dream.

Strolling the misty garden, tiny bare feet;
Faint but familiar aromas; strange and sweet;
Chilled stream of consciousness, memories hide,
As the roses wither and perspire, her she will reside.

Countless headlights from the roadway shine,
Anxiously awaiting entrance to the sacred shrine;
As the leaves, through winter, wither and flesh deplete;
Through the degradation of time, Maria sleeps.