Next morning

It was the dullest of mornings,
the flat nothing of a dawn
after the world’s end.
A watery sun
rising to the plangent cries of kites
circling aimlessly
above a colourless landscape
where nothing breathed that mattered any more.

The rocks beneath my feet were no less dead
than the stone in my chest,
the hills of Judah no heavier
than the load on my shoulders,
the waters of Galilee no more turbulent
than the raw nausea in my throat.

I thought of the boulder
sequestering Him from all tenderness,
from my tenderness;
and wondered how to breach its intransigence.
Yet when I found it gone
and myself facing
a black chasm, infinitely deep,
vanishing into the rock,
nothing seemed more natural.

What did I think to find,
on this morning
after the world’s end,
but a bottomless abyss?

Turning away, afraid to fall
Into the infinite fissure,
the insipid world a grey-brown smudge
through the blur seeping across my vision,
I idly wondered why I cared.

But when I heard my name,
Mary,
spoken in that particular way,
there dawned the first of all mornings
where the very breath of God
breathed into the planet
and it became a living soul.

Something wholly new
yet well-remembered
lived in that one word,
Mary.
Something never before seen
and deeply familiar
came to birth.

A new universe,
founded on an ancient, timeless love.

Advertisements