The Diary of Mary Magdalene: Poems from Christ's Wife

Womb and Tomb

And the Bride is dressed in the blood
of the covenant, and she is broken, and
he takes her bruises and kisses them whole,
holds her cracks and mends every broken bone,
and as Satan recedes, and storm clouds part,
there is this peace of knowing the Grail restored,
and as he warms my womb and marks his tomb inside me
I chart these starstruck and fractured years like blue china
and the poetry fails, and words walk on water, and a hundred miles
are traversed through the desert but to find the Bridegroom, and he is
dressed in myrrh and linen, and hosannas fade as the Messiah descends with
sword and white horse and red banner, and the price of free will is holy love.

For every immaculate mistake, for every fall from heaven, the abandoned girl
finds solace in the lap of Christ, and the gospels all say, have faith, and in
crises, we turn from darkness to light, walking away from the Devil's wounds, away from the shadow of the steeple into the arbor of hope, and don't you know
the Judge plays acoustic guitar and sings B'shem Hashem under oak trees, and my
womb is hot with providence, with the Lord, and as his seeds of peace fructify me, I wander in the wastes no longer, Azazel be damned, Samael cast into fiery
lake, Michael is the Prince of this Aeon, and Satan falls with a third of stars,
and I lock the gates of Apollyon, cast out my seven devils, ascend to Heaven with the Bridegroom, and I do not look back, only fly forwards towards the sun.