Sometimes in my nightmares, I remember Gabriel lambent
and resplendent, with calla lilies at hand and white fire
at his brow, wrapping me up in wings of infinity and kissing
my mouth with a trickster’s manna. God descended upon my
virgin womb and thus, my greatest pride and greatest sorrow
was conceived, once a babe I suckled, then a man’s corpse I
brought down from that cursed cross and rocked to death’s shore.
I am not sacred, I am not holy, I am simply a servant, oh humanity.
A vessel for the Son of God, pious and plain, I am not the kind
to tempt the Grigori, I am simple in my washing and sewing, and
when I labored in that manger, brown dirt at my brow, sweet Joseph
clutching my back as Salome midwifed sweet Yeshua into this fallen
world, I did not think of the travails to come. I did not think of
the bitterness of losing my very soul, of following blind in my
progeny’s direction after he ascended to who knew where, only that
I followed in time, up to the aether, and I would hold every child
to my breast, to drink of my milk, and soothe their wounds, all for
love.
Tag: Assumption
Judex Crederis
You in a thorny glen, your bed swan and dove down
out of your mouth comes three glistening swords,
oh Judex Crederis, and your hair is burning bright!
On your throne is the King of Kings crown, vestment
blazing white of the Annunciation and Assumption,
when you stood on that hill long ago and Moses and
Elijah were your standard bearers and the Holy Ghost
haunted our minds with tantalizing sweetness of God.
You were more ephemeral than mortality, too quick to
be caught by the jaws of death, a gambler in Hell over
the bosom of Abraham’s souls, and you brought many to
the Throne, but when you are stripped down to tan skin,
we are in a skiff, and you cast nets for swimming souls,
pull up plentiful silver fish like the salted seafood of
Tarichae, where some say your bride lived, but truly, her
home was Bethany, and Lazarus and Martha you loved above
all besides your Watchtower, and as we break bread in the
olive grove under the shade of sweet summer rams running
through our minds with promises of, this is not the end,
you tell me my life is just beginning, and your body tastes
like manna, this leavened challah, this honeyed biscuit,
this Sacrament of loaves and bloody wine, we dine on each
other in dismemberment most shamanic, until our organs are
one, and the mists rise from Galilee, and this hollow is
hidden in fog, and you are one with evanescence, soon to
fly away. But please, in your ascendance, remember me,
oh Christ.
We Dance the Danse Macabre 