Again, the steadying presence of Joseph brought her through childbirth. But once the child was born, Mary’s pride surfaces and she will contend with God, if necessary (as any mother would), for the life of her son.
It had been a hard nine months—her frail
body struggling to keep God alive inside her—
the morning sickness and the craving
for wheat germ and honey—she’d lost
her appetite for meat, and would only eat
the ripest fruit. When she tried to sleep,
on some nights, he would sit on her bladder,
then shift suddenly, and she’d wait
in the darkness until he’d settle down
to the pressure of her hands on her belly.
And when the time came, he wanted
to come out feet first, but Joseph turned him
around and guided him into the light.
She held Joseph’s hands, then lifted the child
to her breast and suckled him with the milk
made from her blood. For until he was ready
to do God’s work, he was her son.
as winter slowly brings us to our knees
as metaphor at least if not in actual fact
we do not think of all the things we lacked
long years ago back in the west indies
our minds roam freely to those sunlit seas
with figueroa we look for the flower tacked
to the lush tree and as we're daily packed
in metro train forgetting as in we squeeze
the harder times we recall only the ease
of walking on those warm december days
and not the hardships nor the myriad pains
of having the hardest of masters to please
nor of the sun's harsh and blistering rays
we think only of the light and the warm rains
Belated merry Christmas (did have a thought for you and the ones you love) and a great 2007. The inspiring art is very much appreciated.
As I wish for you and all the ones you love, Rethabile.
Happy New Year!!!
Happy New Year to you too, Professor Zero!
Post a Comment