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| Mosaic from Ethiopia: Basilica of the Annunciation |
Packed a lunch and blew her a kiss.
He daydreamed on the way of chocolate cake
And a girl in math class, in the row just ahead,
Two seats toward the window.
Crossing the street he looked both ways
As she taught him to do;
But still he didn't see the car
Accelerating through meaningless traffic lights,
And the driver praying in rage,
Powerless to change anything at all,
But ramming through a little boy, Mary's boy,
Leaving him for dead in a crosswalk.
In another neighborhood, Mary's son crawled
From bed with absolutely nothing do
And exchanged a few angry tweets with friends.
He had no work to imagine, no home to build.
And Mary called after him, as he
Pulled out of the alley behind their house
And revved up the only engine he had.
His face twisted by rage, his arms tense and sore,
Mary's son felt the piercing pain of impotence
In his hands and in his feet and in his heart.
He had to hurt SOMEBODY today,
So he accelerated through meaningless traffic lights
And rammed through a little boy, and a rabbi,
And a mother and lover, leaving them
For dead in a crosswalk.
Now Mary weeps alone, at home, on the floor.
Hers is rage of a different sort: emptying
Her heart of hope and tenderness and
Leaving only grief and the crippling suspicion
That God is distant and unconcerned:
"My God, my God, why are you so far from me?"
Neighbors come to sit and share a warm plate,
They reach out to Mary with gentle hands.
But her tears are cavernous and bitter and huge,
And there is no comfort in Mary's house tonight.
November 6, 2014
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| Mosaic, Basilica of the Annunciation |
