She will never bear anybody’s baby, no matter how many of us
try, gone beyond that biological need, not a necessity for her, though at
times, in the death of night, I ponder the possibility, how I might probe those
space, inject what is necessary where it is necessary to become true, leaving
behind a host of possible sons or daughters, empty shells on a lonely beach,
abandoned, fodder for the seagulls, dripping from her thigh like a near miss.
So I imagine her as mother when she is not the Madona, but
instead that other Mary, Christ forgave, even gave blessing to, and would it be
a sacrilege to believe he might have left his see with her as well, knowing
there could be only one virgin birth when we all know she is not a virgin.
I want to plant my seeds in her garden, even when they will
never grow, to fill up those empty spaces in her life, and she letting me do
it.
No comments:
Post a Comment