billyfivecrows

Miriam of Magdala

I wonder of your birth. What
Nurse of bruised-feet made
An enemy of fear? I wonder

At the voice of crow and lion,
The cry of slighted beast made
Whole, the caw and the purr, the hurt

Of human heart now made to laugh.
Who laughed as the broken water trickled?

Who strapped the blood to the bandage made still?

"To make"

To carve a bowl from the earth, to take
Time into heart and count the sun

As kindred. Not a quiet little girl, but

With palms full of bee-stings and a teardrop
Or two, a spear of fruit. Once you sat down

To number your beads. Thirteen.

The gift is the present

What does it mean to love...