Mary Magdalene, Forgiven Much

​

​

because my love is mute

my tears must speak

 

because my poor dumb lips cannot find words

i press them to your feet

​

​

​

​

A Mound of Gold

​

​

Unobserved, happiness settles
over everything, like a gentle dust;
over the kneading of bread dough,
the peeling of carrots for stew,
over putting a saucer of milk down
for the cat, and running your hand
through the soft prickle
of your boy's crew cut hair;

​

—you take it in, like the scent of soap
on your husband's fresh-shaved cheek;
like the dog's extravagantly wagging tail,
or the kitten's gravelly mew, and the lick
of his sand-paper tongue.

​

If you wished, you could try quantifying it;
gathering everything gently into a mound of gold,
using gratitude like a soft-hair brush,
then tipping it out of the tiny balance
and holding it (oh so carefully)
in the hollow of your palm.

​

​

​

​

Mushrooms

​

​

(i)

Always, it would be
only the very best for this meal.

I watch Mother pick mushrooms
—dried shiitakes for the New Year meal—
each one with its rim unbroken,
each one perfectly round.

​

“See, they must be creamy white—
Brown like this, don’t take—not fresh.

​

See, they must be round, like this one—
so the family will have harmony.

​

See, the flesh must be thick,
And the pattern must be pretty.”

​

(ii)

 

I remember another time, when we were moving house.
Mother said, “Very first thing, you move the rice bin in
—make sure to fill it all the way to the top
—so that you will always have enough to eat.”

This has always been the way of my people.
So the very first thing I brought into my new home
was a really, really full rice bin,
with my bible sitting on its lid.
And as that bible taught, I honoured my Mother,
who wanted for us children, only good things;
whose wish echoed my Heavenly Father’s promise
of good measure, shaken together,
pressed down, and overflowing.

​

(iii)

 

Today, I look at the mushrooms I have picked
for the New Year meal
—each one patterned like a tortoise shell
—each one thick and round,
perfectly formed, completely whole.

​

​

​

​

into silence

​

​

(i)

​

into silence

​
 

to set aside the sandals of the soul and stand unshod.

​

 

(ii)

 

to live the helpless silence of the babe

to comprehend the greatness of his gift

 

to enter truth (to let it enter you)

to ask to take the bit upon your tongue

 

to set the face like flint against the self

to open the palms and yield them to the nails

 

(iii)

​

to walk away from pride

 

to stand, not with the publican, but in his place 

—to make his words your own 

 

to hear yourself whisper, 

“O God, have mercy also on me, 

for I too am a sinner!”

 

(iv)

​

to know that you are wholly known 

—to understand how deeply you are loved

 

to heal

 

(v)

​

to kneel before the basin 

and to let its waters wash your heart

 

to feel the roughness of the towel on your hands

 

to feel the feet—to know that they are his

 

(vi)

​

to learn to pray

 

to become like water 

and to let him pour you out

​

to break the alabaster of the heart

and let your love annoint

his head, his hands, his feet

​

 

(vii)

​

to humbly ask if you may share his cup

 

(viii)

​

to wait;  

to press the forehead to the upright of his cross 

 

to take him down;

to trace the imprint of the nails

 

to touch the thorns and let them pierce your heart

 

(ix)

​

into awe

into prayer

 

into silence

​

​

​

​

I am the cross, I am the crucified

​

​

I am the suffering Christ I contemplate;

I am the thorns in his crown 

 

I am the solitary occupant of the unlighted cell; I am the jailer

 

I am the mother of the starving child

 

I am the hooker and her client; I am the pimp

 

I am the husband of the battered wife 

 

I am the daughter of the man who wants a son

 

I am the addict and his craving; I am his family 

 

I am the rapist and his victim; I am their child

 

I am the prisoner bound naked to the whipping post;

I am the taunting captor

 

I am Abel; I am Cain

I am the torturer, the tortured

 

I am the cross, I am the crucified.

​

​

​

​

Author's Note:

​

"Mary Magdalene, Forgiven Much", "into silence" and "I am the cross, I am the crucified" were published in Closing My Eyes to Listen (Landmark Books, 2011).

​

​"A Mound of Gold" was first published in Fulcrum—an annual of poetry and aesthetics (USA), No. 1, "A Map of English-language Poetry", 2002.

​

"Mushrooms" first appeared in Eye on the World, a publication of the Creative Arts Programme.