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A graduate of Rowan University's Professional Writing Program. Currently a journal production editor in North Jersey, she hosts a monthly open mic, is a freelance copy editor, and has led several creative writing workshops for the Midland Park Continuing Education program. McNeely is finishing her second book-length manuscript of poems, tentatively titled Brigid's Room. St. Bridget's Room St. Marguerite's Retreat House, Mendham, NJ crucifix and iron pipes poorly hidden-
Mary's diaphanous veil for a curtain,
worn floorboards like old blood,
dried palm frond on a light blue wall-
the color of a vow.
crooked mirror, tarnished, small,
reflects the painted woodcut:
Madonna and Child, their features
carved European and long.
no headboard or bedskirt where I sleep
beneath this stiff wool blanket, itchy, ecru,
smelling of detergent and wet weather
brown molding like fresh mud-
locked drawers, eyes drawn
to crystalline knobs, the flaked white dresser-
rusty bolts pierce their centers.
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Aubade for Wendy What loss has drawn them to you?
Second-story window
near the wooded cul de sac-
voices wounded, exquisite.
Curled pair, cowled feathers,
their dry address, your west corner,
jetsam from the backyard stream-
Who else would live your splintered sill
to luxury? What bird would leave?
It is that underwater time-
They launch their slow flotillas of notes
for you to trawl fingers through in sleep,
drift between- mourning doves the color
of complacency, just darker
than your summered skin
given in to other
celestial bodies, two shades short
of blending, the color of the hour
you stir to their suggestions,
sudden dawn of bird and sky-
your opened eyes instruct them how to blue.
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