I wait for the King in the bridal chamber, virgin anew,
roses blossom in bowers over the marital boughs, thick
with ivy a thyrsus and heavy with lambent rain, the
songs and psalms tread light under moonlight in white
alabaster halls, jasper cries as He makes His way to me,
Hiss footsteps like a Lamb, a Lion, an Angel. Wings and fire.
He bathes my feed in spikenard and then kisses me starstruck.
Raises His sword to my myrrh and our mouths are parables
of the Bride and Bridegroom, out of His lips come legends.
My defenses fall, I am Jerusalem tables turned, left senseless
in the grip of Her Husband. Oh God, Oh Almighty, make me
quake like the Cedars of Lebanon and plait my sorrows into
sunshine, pierce me with the spear of our Sacrament, rain down
on my expectant soul! To Your arms, I am a stranger, but on Your
tongue, I would be the Daughter of Zion. A citron on the palate,
clutched in Eve's trembling hand, pressed to teeth bitter, but you
turn my sorrow into something sweet, and maybe in my tears,
I can find you.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Mary Magdalene: Poems from Christ's Wife
PoetryMary Magdalene writes on her love for Christ. And follows him to Hell. And back again. (A collection of poems, prayers, and meditations from the year I walked with the Lord.)
