MARY REMEMBERS

Photo from Unsplash.

When the dam breaks, the water
rushes in to fill the void,
to swallow the emptiness.
It is like this with broken lines,
one side overtaking the other:
the holy flooding the broken,
history cascading into memory.
The ecstasy of conception,
the soft voice of the man of light,
the star hovering like a halo –
I feel their truth beating in my heart
but see them with crossed eyes
when I look over my shoulder.
The cries of the children, their blood
flowing as a river, their crimson
coloring those brilliant Egyptian sunsets –
I have heard the story so many times,
I close my eyes and I almost remember.