The Transfiguration of Mary
The Transfiguration of Mary
the full moon of Mary’s womb
orbits her restlessness
the fists and feet of her unborn son
are meteors that crater her sleep
she steps outside into the cornflower
blue of night for a deeper breath
parched, she lowers the pail in the well
and hears the agitation of water
suddenly, she glows
like the angel who announced her fate
suddenly, she knows
her son will not outlive her
the scent of incense and memory
leads her to a tent that glows amber
the air flickers and four women
nestle her into a pile of cushions
she searches the lines of their faces,
but her heart does the knowing
Tamar, the mother of Perez
Rahab, the mother of Boaz
Ruth, the mother of Obed
Bathsheba, the mother of Solomon
women whose shadows are scandal,
who traded shame for survival
Tamar slides a ring on Mary’s finger
“may you remember whose you are”
Rahab ties a red thread around her wrist
“may God show you kindness for your kindness”
Ruth breaks fresh barley bread for her
“may you continue to find favor”
Bathsheba washes Mary’s feet
“may your son be wise and bring us peace”
they anoint her head and hands with oil,
her cup overflows with goodness and mercy
can I live in this tent forever, she wonders
while warm waves touch the shore of her mind
dawn’s rosy fingers brush her cheeks
and she blinks awake to a pool of light
no tent, no incense, eight hands absent
Elizabeth, her cousin, joins the birdsong
her son flutters in the nest of her womb
her spirit flies before her maker
and Mary keeps all these things
and ponders them in her heart
