Merry Christmas, Mary Magdalene

Merry Christmas, Mary 

Magdalene, you who to me

are the most interesting of all.

First one to the tomb.

Long black hair, deep brown

eyes, say I. Vigilant in chill

darkness, stars heavy overhead.

You were the first to see

refabricated Jesus, your friend--

now a floating Christ,  now close 

to but forever distant from you.

You: who knew his smell, his temper

and teeth. Laughed with him.

What was funny to you both?

Watched him tortured in the sun.

What is wrong with people?

That's a pertinent religious query. 

At the tomb, soon other women

assembled. (The men, long gone.)

They saw what you saw and talked.

You stayed quiet. My God,

your thoughts, Mary Magdalene:

if somehow we could know them . . . .