Secret Supplicant

"Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee."    
 
Sometimes on summer evenings  
I knelt beneath the open windows    
of my neighbors' dining room,    
soundless and motionless.    
   
"Blessed art thou amongst women,"    
   
Betty fed Bob and their nine kids    
all together, every night, without fail.    
Each meal began with a prayer    
which eleven voices chanted as one.    
   
"and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."    
   
Contralto convocation,    
the chanting transfixed me    
as their voices slipped    
through the screens    
and then rose    
on the warm evening air.    
   
"Holy Mary, Mother of God,    
pray for us sinners,"    
   
Hiding in the yews,    
my grass-stained knees ached.    
I prayed the prayer would work on me,    
crouching intermeddler.    
   
"now and at the hour of our death. Amen."    
   
Betty lives alone these days.    
An aging alto prayer precedes her evening meal.    
But the chanting still echoes in my mind,    
and still I rely    
on borrowed grace.