Magdala – 11 April 2018

They tell of my seven demons
But not of the men who put them there
From before my moon-bleeds started

They say I followed him
Followed? He called me beloved
As we walked side by side

They claim I stood at a distance as he died
But they were not there and did not see
Our eyes close the soldiered distance

They know I hurried to his tomb with first light
But the spices I carried were not for him alone
Never should either of us be alone again

After that I disappear from their telling
My love they resurrected
But me they left, unbelieved, in the empty tomb

I am their Jonah
Jetsam, willingly sacrificed
To their terrible need

Swallowed by their behemoth pride
I ride secretly in the belly of their power
Anointing the others as they arrive

Scared, shivering wretches, women all
Who lack the upthrusted harpoon
That draws the blood and water from his dead body

But blood soaked rooms do not scare us
In their secret darkness
We create life

Our winding grave sheets
Are but placenta
Feeding hope

One day, indigestibly regurgitated,
We will spew forth
To bless, to heal, to consecrate

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