THE LAST BATHTUB VIRGIN IN AMERICA 

by Jean Pouliot

Novena to a bygone tradition

1. Her sisters once lived in the tiny front yard—
   You couldn’t have missed them. It would have been hard
   To ignore the devotion inside the three-deckers
   Where rosaries dangled and pious Quebeckers
   Hung small crucifixes in ev’ry cramped room
   And blue votive candlelight hallowed the gloom
   To keep their homes free from all evil and fear
   And hope that salvation would always be near.

 Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce…

2. To city and village in the northern US
   The French-speaking farmers escaped the distress
   Of soil so fatigued it produced no more grain
   That large families needed to grow and sustain
   Themselves and their progeny, clergy and nuns.
   They traveled by train in both large and small runs
   To earn a few sous in the river-fed mills
   And some day return when they’d paid loans and bills.
   Le Seigneur est avec vous…

3. The took with them energy, language and creed—
   The only three things they believed they would need
   To survive in a world they had not seen before
   Of brick mills, loud looms like an unending war
   That deafened their children who, too, had to work
   To put food on the table. No person could shirk
   Their family duty to toil and provide,
   To avoid hunger pangs and a wound to their pride.
   Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes…..

4. As forebears gave thanks for invasions averted,
   These people, to Roman rule long past converted,
   All prayed to the Virgin who never forsook those
   Who flew to her side for protection, repose
   And good death. They lost arms to the whirling machines
   And daughters and sons as there were no vaccines
   To deflect fatal illness from storming each home
   Laying toddler and patriarch under the loam.
   Et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni….

5. La Sainte Vierge brought solace when new ventures ended
   In failure. All suff’ring examined and mended
   By the gaze of the woman who stood neath the Cross
   While all she held dear was accounted as loss.
   She suffered so we, too, could fathom a child
   Who left us too soon, our misfortunes compiled
   In hearts far from home in a strange, heartless land,
   Our ev’ry step set to another’s command.

Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu….

6. So, Virgins in plaster sprung up like cattails
   On ponds. Painted-on their blue cloaks and white veils,
   With a calm and pale visage—both mother and girl—
   Astride fluffy clouds and a spherical world.
   The first stood alone in hot sun and deep snow
   Their cheap paint and noses were quickest to go.
   A sturdier shelter was needed and quick—
   But it had to be cheap—our billfold’s not too thick.
   Priez pour nous pécheurs….

7. Bathtubs discarded were rescued from dumps,
   Planted in yards, weeds uprooted in clumps.
   Shells from a beach visit pasted outside
   To hide rusty stains while displaying our pride,
   Lit with electrical garlands of lights—
   Summer sky azures and cold, polar whites.
   The Virgin ensconced on her powder room throne
   To neighbor and passersby piety shown.
   Maintenant et à l’heure…

8. In time, as our mast’ry of custom and tongue
   Exceeded our loneliness and we had hung
   Up our aprons, bottines, oil-stained leather gloves
   And looked to ourselves, not to saints from above
   For support, entertainment, a means to advance
   Our causes, our work, our societal stance,
   the shrines—proud announcement and desperate prayer—
   Were prone to neglect, fell into disrepair.
   À l’heure de notre mort…

9. By ones and by twos, tubs were carted away.
   The lights were unplugged, and the Virgins saw day
   In back gardens where none could see them from the street
   O’er lawns that were seeded, raked out and kept neat.
   On some overgrown road in a long-forgot town,
   The last bathtub Virgin with pity looks down
   On her negligent children who tear past her shrine.
   Her hands still reach out; her gaze still benign.
   Amen.