If you see her,
chocolate-faced Magda,
she makes a woman proud
the way she wears
her age, her hats.
Magda’s life is church
her son, Raphael
a collection of hats
paraded on Sundays
and Cuthbert the husband
she mostly hates.
In church the Holy Ghost
takes her dancing up and down aisles
to beats that rival nightclub bands
a disco queen in trance
her hat hanging on--
barely.
Raphael is sometimes there.
He comes along
when she pleads with him
and on her knees begs God
to stop her son’s drinking.
A hoard of hats
stacked according to colors
fills a glass cabinet
where you’d keep your best china.
Magda’s battled Cuthbert
since she sturdily walked him up the altar
he promising to look after her
and Raphael
and buy her hats
she’s always carried off like a peacock
‘til now.
Her face still smooth chocolate,
hat tilted on her head
she hobbles along
on two walking sticks,
Raphael’ s drunken abuses
rubbing Cuthbert’s nerves raw,
she always forgiving
overlooking his excesses.
When church members visit,
the Holy Ghost isn’t tame
she becomes a contortionist in her chair
swirling back and forth,
hat’s secured with a pin.
And Raphael found dead in a chair
with Bacardi rum in his hand
always in Magda’s prayers,
his memory igniting fires
between her and Cuthbert.
Their love long dead,
Magda’s got the Holy Ghost
walls plastered with pictures of Raphael
and a cabinet full of hats
she’d die for.
(c) 2002
Published in The Caribbean Writer
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