Our Lady of the Parkway
by Julia St. John
South Oakland, Pittsburgh
So maybe the groundwater
isn’t miraculous, maybe it was there
before a shrine was built into the hill. We
know this. But still, I kneel to dip my fingers
in the spring’s water and, crossing yourself,
you follow. The padded kneeler
before the Virgin is soaked
from last night’s rain, warm from spring
sun, and the highway traffic below
continues on with its dull song.
Her hands
stretch out from under the stone hood
of the grotto, mantle slipping slightly
from her hair. She is cupping her hands like that
for us, and for the far-down drivers, and the water
is just water, and the shrine’s just stone,
and she is somewhere
cupping her hands out, up, yes, just like that.