Mary Galvin     (Judy Ireland)
Mary 


Where I grew up
among the Catholics
it was a name so common
that to this day I always add my surname
so that even now where I am often the only Mary 
among the darker-skinne Marias and Maries
I am often mistaken as being overly formal
when I introduce myself with my full name
when all I’m really doing is trying to distinguish myself 
from my best friend Mary
Martin, and Mary Connolly, and Mary McCormack 
and all of those. 


It was once considered too holy
for everyday use
but by the twelfth century Mary
was in use in England, and since the sixteenth century 
Mary has been among the most common feminine names. 
There have been Marys of fame: 
two queens of England, one of Scotland, 
the author of Frankenstein, the capricious 
Mary Poppins. And a few of infamy— 
most notably, Typhoid Mary who carried 
the pestilence from rich to poor. 


Once, waiting for a breakfast sandwich
in Provincetown, among a crowd of sleek gay men, 
all heads turned when the clerk yelled
“Mary!” and I stepped forth to claim
my egg, bacon and cheese.
“That’s not your real name!”
said one smiling man,
and I said, “Yes—I am the real thing.”
On that day I felt good about my name.
It’s good to be a Mary such as I am.
It’s a bit like being gay:
those who are not Marys may not suspect it
but it’s true—we are everywhere. 
Once upon a time Mary
was considered too holy for everyday use.
It is a name of infamy and fame.
In the New Testament it is the Virgin’s name, 
the miraculous mother, 
and it’s also the name of the castigated whore. 
But Jesus said Mary Magdelene
is beloved too, lest ye throw those stones
look inside and study your own 
name and unless yours is without taint, 
put those stones back down. 


When he said beloved
he may have been speaking Egyptian,
the ancient word Mry, for beloved and loved. 
The Hebrews spoke it as Miryam, meaning 
sea of bitterness and god knows
I’ve let fall enough tears
to let the tide rise, contemplating those
who gave me my name.
It can also mean rebelliousness—those 
translators never sure
if what they write is true.
(Perhaps this is the meaning I heard
when the wind cried Mary
and I left all those virgin-worshippers behind, 
sailing into a world three-quarters covered
by bitter seas.) 


Mary is the sea, la mer,
and too generous to remain bitter;
it surges forth and recedes,
cleanses and drowns,
rebellious in a storm,
placid as a pond,
home of creatures beyond comprehension. 
And beyond the bitterness and the rebellion, 
Mary is no longer considered
too holy for everyday use.
it is what I find when I look inside
and study my name:
a third translation from the Hebrew
not nearly as well known--
wished-for child—closer
To the Egyptian origin
Beloved,
Loved.
This is the name I claim.