The Annunciation of a Dying Woman – a poem by Mary Alice Dixon

The Annunciation of a Dying Woman 

Gabriel undresses my tongue
a little more each night,
folds my worn words
into neat little squares,
places each gently in the heart 
of a cedarwood chest 
he carries under his wing.

Devils whisper dementia, but 

I know I go 
virgin tomorrow
unsullied by tense, 
unbroken by words,
save Father, Mother, and Son,
kissing the voice of an angel 
who might be a holy ghost
carrying me under his wing.

Mary Alice Dixon is a hospice volunteer who finds prayer in reading poetry to the dying. She is a Pushcart nominee whose work appears inGyroscope ReviewKakalak, Main Street Rag, moonShine review, Northern Appalachia Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Pinesong, three PSPP anthologies, and elsewhere. She lives in Charlotte, NC, frequently walking the Stations of the Cross. 


  1. Beautiful! I was a hospice volunteer until the pandemic hit. I can relate to this poem.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Mary Alice Dixon says:

      Thank you for your generous hear and gracious words.
      Hospice volunteers are a special tribe.
      Mary Alice Dixon

      Liked by 2 people

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