The weekday Mass at 6 a.m.

brings old folks out 

from bungalows 

around the church.

They move like caterpillars  

down sidewalks, 

some with canes, 

some on walkers. 

 

Young Father Doyle says the Mass 

and is renowned for giving 

homilies on weekdays

superior to homilies

heard in other churches 

even on a Sunday. 

 

After Mass, he goes back 

to the rectory to care 

for a mother older than 

most of his congregants.

A gracious lady, his mother 

cannot move or talk 

because of a stroke.

 

But every Sunday at noon,

when the church is overflowing

with people wanting Mass to start, 

Father Doyle, in full vestments, 

wheels his mother in a lump

down the middle aisle

and lifts her like a chalice 

and places her in the front pew  

before he ascends to the altar.

 

Sometimes at night,

when his mother is finally asleep, 

he returns to the church 

and rehearses in the dark 

three hymns she long ago 

asked him to sing at her funeral.

 

He practices the hymns 

because the doctor said  

she could go at any time

and when that time comes,

he doesn’t want to miss a note.

The last thing she ever said was

“Son, I’ll be listening.” 

 

 

— Donal Mahoney