Her hair
and hips and hands
curve to cup the mysteries
of God, held like a golden egg
that will hatch on the Day at Last
she will receive her face, her name,
praises from the King Himself
who made her from her mother’s
egg, painted her with the Lamb’s
own blood, and sealed her with
the Spirit of power. The God
of Abraham. God of Isaac.
God of Maria will raise
her hair and hips
and hands
--from glory into Glory.
1 comment:
Did this poem end up inspiring a dream, perchance?
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