Lindsey Brown

 
Mary Clarifies a Few Things

You want me earthly, but I am not earthly.
The virginal thing, the specifics of birth—

When I roam the heavens I am clothed in moonlight.
I uncover my breast and white carnations

come pouring forth. I place one over each
of my child’s closed eyes.

My child cries and I reach my dark arms down—
I stroke his temple with my thumb.

When I roamed the deserts, incarnate, I knew
the angry mob. The deranged king (for all

the killed children of Bethlehem I place
a flower upon each closed eye).

I kissed my child and was released
from that kingdom.

Here my dreams command nothing of me.
Here I am Queen, and you are

my child. I bring you these milk-white
flowers. Close your eyes.

The New Father

Here is Joseph, who does what his dreams command,
rattled by his young wife, just outside the inn.

She holds the blood-slicked babe she conceived without sin
while he, the craftsman, can’t steady his hands.

The arrangement, at first, was not hard to understand.
Heavenly mother. Legal father. Then the angels moved in

toward her. He’ll be gone before the public miracles begin…
But he’s here now, isn’t he? Naming his son, following the plan.

So let her keep whispering to her angel friends. And oh well
if when the boy says my Father’s house it’s not Joseph’s he means.

He’s laid down his pride before. Perhaps that’s why
he was chosen for this. Look. His chest swells

as he takes the babe. A private miracle no dream
foretold. He comforts his child. He tries. He tries.