I've come to know Mary quite well.
She and i sit to discuss the happenings of wrinkles and failing hearts on our quaint Philadelphia park bench. For instance, there was a man sipping earl grey resting quietly with his son, both of their feet tired and bare.
Sitting within earshot we learn the two Men only recently found eachother to be blood-related but have always been the best of friends.
I turned to let my ear be known & framed my lips over the Fathers as i asked him if he was familiar with my Mary.
He opened his pouted weathered mouth and whispered into my open ear,
"Mary was my Mother,
my lost Sister,
my late Wife,
my aborted son..."
He paused, pensive, eyes closed.
"Mary was my consience & my inner-child"
His son then wept as i was already showing my Mary to the door.
