Mary’s Other Song
If I hold my hand against the wood, flat, like this
I can feel your breathing from above. Slow.
I remember Labor. A mother does.
At least, I think that is your breathing I feel.
on the other hand
I am feeling the Earth, moaning.
When I kissed the soles of your feet in the manger
they were soft.
with those pudgy arms out
And you kicked and giggled
at right angles to your little body.
Like they are now, but different.
Now I feel those same feet on my forehead
So much walking. Dust to dust.
Spent on humanity.
On being With us.
And the rose-blossom around that spike.
“Lo, how a rose e’er blooming”*
“From tender stem hath sprung” a cross-beam.
I remember that night, three decades ago.
Shepherds and wise men and angels.
God, it was noisy.
“Can’t a mother get some sleep? Jesus!
I just passed a God through a small hole.
Let a girl rest.”
Joseph frowned.He often did. Hemorrhoids.
Well let him give birth next time!
And here we are, you, my sweet boy.
Choking back our Hallelujas
Like so many hairballs.
With an eternity of sentient beings. And the sun.
And John, your friend.
He just keeps staring up at you
holding wood in both hands.
Holding wood and steel,
For life, dear.
Reference to the Rose: * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyuOIYCERc4