a robe of
the moon under
my feet. twelve stars are
the crown on my head. what
is a girl to do
when the red dragon
waits to devour all that
she births? seven hungry mouths
open wide to steal the fruit of my womb.
flee to the desert and hide among the dunes; to the
secret place. he
breathes water round
my ankles—a great tsunami
of fear and hate but the earth opens
its kind mouth and swallows the torrent
that springs from forked tongue and I am yet
safe. I know the end of
the story. stars fall like fire
from the sky and the garment sun
is darkened. but we wear shining robes–
live with the Light inside of us, and our labor
pains have not been in vain. slow, we pilgrim through
this life—this inchoate
journey…a tristful one; bricolage
of lashed together sorrows and diaphanous
joys…until the elegy is spoken and life springs
forth from rocky crags. Hold me up, my friend. Do
not let your hands fall away from me. I am in need of your Light.
I read about the woman clothed in the sun, and I thought it was a beautiful, terrible, wonderful story so I told him about it as I tucked him in.
I think we are the woman, I told him in the dark. And the devil tries to steal everything we birth for the Kingdom of God.
That’s weird, he said.
But it says right there–he doesn’t succeed. The woman is saved, and her son is snatched up to the Throne.
He was silent.
What if, I said, my breath stealing the silence from the night. What if we all lived like we believed it? The end of the story? We have already won. What if we lived like we believe that?
Still, the quiet. He reached over and took my hand under the blanket.
I love you, Mom, he said.