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 . . . .
