Carole McDonnell
Essayist, Reviewer, Novelist

Samples of My Writing:

The Princess and the Pea

She stayed up the whole night

because some woman

didnít think she was good enough for her son.

But thatís what these mothers do.

No one is good enough.

Itís small the pea.

Some little comment.

Some snide subtle questioning of your intelligence,

your religion,

your worth.

Some weaselly crack about your skin color,

your family.

Something that would have little or no effect

on the harder, more calloused types.

But we princesses

Loved, in our own kingdom,

Known, smiled at by all, stay up, sleepless:

His mother does not like me.

And while we lie awake,

he sleeps, falsely secure:

My mother is Queen.

My mother is a saint.

He sleeps, uncomprehending:

His mother does not like me.

We ideal women.

We stay up nights,

tossing and turning,

midnight to dawn.

Unable to sleep.

Unable to comprehend their

hateful distrust of us.

His mother does not like me.

And we never think

perhaps we should just get off the bed.

A song for Hagar and the other Scapegoats

You, God, see me.

As I walked alone

denied a voice

because of race

because of sex

because of class

Through the millenia

I have remained unseen.

If seen, I have been judged.

But your seeing

is love.

Your seeing

is care.

Your seeing

is divine protection.

Strengthen me

as I walk

unseen through life

Strengthen my son,

a child of an unseen mother.

Or rather,

of a mother seen only by God.