Not anymore.
I wake in the middle of the night,
fingers fluttering over my rising belly.
My mind is split between
worry and wonder.
This inchworm of a life
taking root in me
is suddenly real.
How did I get here?
How could I be so stupid?
What am I going to do now?
I reach for Mary, Mary,
searching for answers,
but the words all blur.
How many tears are left in me
is anybody’s guess.
All I know is,
I had enough to last me
through the night.
Home again,
I hurry to my chamber.
My cloak barely hides
the changing contour
of my belly.
Soon enough I will look
as though I swallowed the moon.
I must tell Joseph
that the life nesting in me
was placed there by Jehovah.
But why would he believe?
What if, convinced I have broken
God’s holy law,
he drags me before the priest,
has me judged and sentenced
to be stoned?
What if-
The bloodied face of Salome
floats to the surface of my mind.
Stop it! Stop it!
I order myself.
Where is your faith?
Do you truly believe
God Almighty would bless you
to carry his son,
then stand idly by
while both your lives are taken?
I bow my head,
soak in the silence,
and wait for my heart to slow.
Lord, forgive me.
I know you will protect us.
Please ready me for
whatever trials lie ahead.
Wringing my hands,
I wait by the well
at the foot of the last tel
Joseph must climb
on his way home.
He is pleased,
though surprised,
to see me.
We trade holy kisses
and mount the hill in silence.
Joseph is the first to speak.
“What brings you out
to meet me?”
“Well, I-I, uhm-”
“Yes?”
I look around,
then lead the way
to a grove of olive trees
where we can be alone.
“Mary,” says Joseph,
“why are you being
so mysterious?”
“Joseph,” I whisper,
“do you believe in
the mysterious?”
Before he can answer,
I squeeze out the truth.
Once the words
are in the air,
Joseph stares at me, silent.
The weight of the pain
and doubt in his eyes
presses me to the ground
and holds me there
till I feel faint
and finished.
At long last,
Joseph finds his voice.
I tremble at the sound of it.
In pinched tones, he says,
“I care for you, Mary,
and will not turn you over
to the priest.
But come tomorrow,
I will give you papers
of divorcement.
You will then be free to go
wherever you wish,
only please,
go from here.”
A tear on his cheek,
Joseph turns his back on me
and heads for my father’s house,
our hearts blending
with the darkness.
God, you must be
mad as hell.
I made you a promise
and stomped on it.
Go ahead.
Tell me you’re angry.
I know I’d be.
Can’t stand to look at me?
That makes two of us.
My bed and pillow both
seem made of rocks.
There is no sleep to be found.
Even my thoughts toss and turn.
If I were still a little girl,
I could curl up next to Mother,
let her tell me
everything will be alright.
Lord Jehovah,
please be my mother
tonight.
Who will want me?
No more tight abs to show off
at the beach.
No slender waist to catch
a cute boy’s eye.
Four months and look at me!
Soon, I won’t be able to see
my feet anymore.
Or, I could be lucky
and stay pretty small, like all
the women in our family.
Yeah. Like I’ve been lucky so far.
Look at me! I’m hideous!
There’s not much to do about it
except cover all the mirrors
in my room,
and race past
all the rest.
I crawl into bed,
pull Mary’s words to my chin
like a warm blanket.
Her faith is so strong.
Maybe if I keep close
it just might rub off.
I.
I rise
like any other morning,
inviting Jehovah
into my day.
“Shalom, Father,” I whisper.
Whatever waits for me
is at Jehovah’s choosing,
and I chose, long ago,
to put my trust in Him.
II.
Joseph arrives at my door
before breakfast,
no parchment of divorce
in either hand.
“Mary,” he says,
eyes gleaming with new light,
“in the dead of night,
in the deepest heart of sleep,
an angel came
and told me
all the words you spoke
were true.
He said that
I should marry you
as planned.”
The sun and I stand still.
“And?”
I wait, and wait,
and wait until
Joseph, my Joseph,
sings out,
“I will!”
Alone on the rooftop,
I mourn the sunset.
I am in no great haste
to keep the promise
I made myself at sunrise:
to tell my parents.
If only Joseph’s angel
would speak to them first!
Joseph kindly offered
to stand with me.
Yet, I declined. This
I must do on my own.
But what words can I use
to convince my parents that
everything will be alright?
Raised in God’s shadow,
nursed on the Mosaic Law,
I have been a regular at Temple
all my life,
have daily listened to
my mother humming psalms
as she grinds meal for flatbread.
I have priests for kinsmen,
and am daughter to
a righteous man.
So how, Lord,
am I to tell my parents
that their unmarried daughter
is with child?
And once my words shatter
their dreams for me,
will they ever be able
to look me in the eye again?
I breathe deep,
descend the stairs,
and pull Gabriel’s words round me
like a cloak.
One look at my face
and my mother draws near.
“Mary? What is it, child?”
My tears come quickly.