FROM MAGDALENE TO THE RISEN CHRIST, A PRELUDE TO ASCENSION

I wish I’d written this poem before my poetry collection, Siren Song (http://www.amazon.com/Siren-Song-Tawni-Waters/dp/0692208798), was published. It feels like the perfect end note to the Mary Magdalene poems in that book.  But since I couldn’t include it there, I’ll put it here.

It came to me yesterday as I drove from Los Angeles to Albuquerque, from one of my heart’s homes to another.  I voice dictated it while watching my beloved desert landscape glide by outside my windows.  I know poems aren’t as popular as prose, so I don’t expect a bunch of hits for this one, but my Magdalene poems are precious to me.  They feel like they come to me from a higher place, and when I write them, strange coincidences surrounding the history of Mary Magdalene always appear in my world.  (The glorious painting, The Lamentations of Mary Magdalene on the Body of Christ, was completed by Arnold Böcklin in 1868.)

 

My love,

today I heard your tombstone crack.

The sound of your resurrection

shook the pillars of the sky.

Stars shook loose like gemstones

from the velvet cloak of night.

Volcanoes erupted.

Death trembled and died.

 

You have been uncrucified.

 

And now my king,

like me,

you rise.

 

I have gone to prepare a place for you.  Come to me there,

that paradise

of winding stairs, cobbled streets, and holy waterfalls.

Over the wind tossed river

a stone bridge arcs like a hissing cat.

A fat woman plays her violin.

Sins rise from skin to evaporate

like mist into the cool womb of Mary’s night.

 

I will stand watch there, my starving stare

half dead for want of your face.

Whispering your name

 

Isa, my own Isa,

bone of my bones

flesh of my flesh

 

the shame of our deaths forgotten,

I’ll wait

until your light shatters

blotted black ink horizon

spattering dark with dawn.

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