that my visit from
Gabriel and God
was more than a dream?
The very idea seems
impossible to me now,
that somehow Jehovah
would place
his son in me.
Three days have passed,
and life remains common
as birdsong and morning
as I move swiftly through
the market at Sepphoris,
careful to guard my purse
from the sly fingers
of small thieves.
I am here to purchase
fresh coriander and thyme,
but a tumbling mound of
luscious pomegranates
tipping the scales
of a nearby merchant
tempts me to add a few
to my basket.
I reach for one,
only to drop it when I hear
“Gabriel?”
My heart races at the sound.
“Gabriel?”
I spin round to discover
the source of my distraction.
It is a young woman,
not much older than me.
Could it really be?
Does she see the angel too?
I rush toward her,
my mind fumbling for
words to ask that
impossible question.
Two steps away,
my lips part just as
a little boy darts
from behind a market stall.
“Gabriel,” she scolds, “how often
must I tell you not to run from me
in the marketplace?”
I lower my head and turn away,
feeling foolish.
And yet, I cannot shake the feeling
of that holy presence
in my bedchamber,
nor any longer deny
that the archangel’s voice
still rings in my ear.
Did he not say
he knew of my cousin, Elizabeth?
That Jehovah had visited her too?
Once and for all,
I must learn if it is true.
I head home to pack.
My puny purchases
can wait.
I must journey to Judah.
I must speak with Elizabeth.
Lamech, a servant of Joseph,
joins me, huddling beneath
an acacia tree.
The sun threatens to peel me
like a grape,
and I am grateful for
this circle of shade,
though I would hate
for these deadly thorns
to pierce my skin.
I slide to the ground,
and lean against the trunk,
tensing at the sound
of a lion’s roar
in the distance.
Thankfully,
judging from the direction
of the sound, we are downwind
of his scent.
“Here,” says Lamech,
offering his waterskin
before slaking his own thirst.
I smile at his kindness,
remembering the Bedouin proverb
my father never tired of repeating:
Always take care
of the stranger,
for one day,
you may be the stranger.
“Learn this wisdom,”
my father said,
“for no one survives alone
in the wilderness.”
“Drink deep,” says Lamech.
“Only a camel travels miles
on a single sip.”
I reach for the waterskin,
and drink my fill.
“Come, Lamech,” I say,
springing to my feet.
“We must not allow this heat
to slacken our pace.
The hills of Judah call to me,
and I wish to see my cousin’s face
by nightfall.”
Zechariah meets us at the gate,
smiling wordlessly.
I assume, as priest,
he has taken a vow of silence,
and think no more of it.
He leads us to the inner court.
Elizabeth welcomes us
with cups of pomegranate juice,
as Lamech and I having been
spotted some distance away.
“Shalom!” Elizabeth calls to us.
As I draw near,
I rehearse what I will say,
what I will ask:
Cousin, what do you know
of angels? Of Gabriel himself?
I have to know!
But, before teeth touch tongue
and my words begin to flow,
Elizabeth declares,
“Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”
God’s spirit descends on me
like mist, and through my tears
I notice the swell
of Elizabeth’s belly.
Six months with child,
Gabriel had said,
and so it seems.
I drop my cup
and lift my hands to heaven.
“My soul does magnify
the Lord!”
Elizabeth has a word for this
disease churning my stomach
like rancid butter,
for the way my nostrils swell
at the very smell
of warm goat’s milk,
for this faint feeling of floating
miles from lake or ocean swell.
It is a feeling Cousin
has come to know well,
and she calls it
Proof.
I noticed this morning
the snap on my favorite jeans
seemed to have changed zip codes.
I could hardly hitch the zipper
into place. Shoot.
Mom better give
that new detergent
the boot.
Late for volleyball drills,
I race to the locker room,
dump my open backpack
on the bench, and strip
faster than Clark Kent.
I climb into my gym clothes,
moving too fast to catch Seth
flipping through my copy
of Mary, Mary.
“What’s this?” she asks.
I look up, snatch the book,
and stuff it back into my pack,
totally ignoring the O of Seth’s mouth.
“Well, excuse me!” she says,
meaning nothing of the kind.
But I don’t care.
Some things you just don’t share.
Mary, Mary is mine alone.
At least for now.
Funny how a person in a book
can come to life.
It’s like I know Mary now,
like we’ve been kicking it
half of forever.
I never thought about her
being funny, or tough,
or brave enough to travel
through the wilderness
where there were lions,
just so she could see her cousin.
All I have to do to see mine
is hop the subway.
No way I would have made it
back then.
But I’m glad Mary
can take me along
for the ride.
Miss Wells,
the guidance counselor,
flips through papers on her desk.
I sit across from her,
breathing heavy,
tapping my no-name sneakers
on the floor,
waiting for her to get started,
so she can finish,
so I can go.
“You kids just can’t
sit still, can you?”
I know a rhetorical question
when I hear one.
“So, Mister-
that’s what they call you,
right?
What are your plans
after graduation?”
“To go to college,” I answer,
without missing a beat.
“To major in what?”
She’s got me there.
“You should start
thinking about that,” she says.
“More importantly,
think about ways
to beef up your transcripts.
Find more extracurricular activities
that will look good on paper.”
Yeah, I’m thinking.
That’s what I need,
‘cause I’m not busy enough already.