All the Marys in the world 
can not save me from myself. So it seems. 

I hear my mother shouting,
One step at a time! Don't run in the house!

or some such admonition
against gracelessness,

and all the Marys chorus her
as if female chaos 

is the only cardinal sin worth fretting over.
Each night, I pray for grace,

and each day, they chant the same.
One step at a time! Don't run in the house!

But at this late stage of all my long years
and with all the world has shown itself to be

to every witness available,
it seems time at long last 

for all the Marys in the world to turn their worries 
to the endless sins and skinned knees the Earth round,

and to let me deal silently and, alas,
alone with mine.