Mary Magdalene in Jeans
by Annie Marie 2005
As we walked amongst caves of seashells and
crystal
at the Grotto in North West Iowa
we pondered the image of Jesus in our minds.
Here, by David holding Goliaths head by the hair,
angels blow trumpets, over a pebbled cement casket
containing the marble thin body of suffering Jesus.
At a wishing well, I said, I envisioned Him ethereal,
With brown toe ring sandals, dusty robe blowing behind him,
and with staff in hand, performing miracles of patience.
I told her, I could love him without a loophole to Heaven.
I am not complete with frequent flyer reward points.
Her eyes distant, she in leather and long hair, spoke.
She said she saw him as a black leather prince of rock,
A glamorous image of youth uniting nations,
Compassionate rebel beyond the norm, endlessly
signing autographs that say, “Love You! Jesus.”
In the ripples of the Mary Magdalene water fall, a sculpture
Of Jesus watches as she washes his feet with her hair..
.
Single, we walked to our grill, watching the swans,
and ate hamburgers with wine. Annie 2005
The Reader by Annie 2005
by Annie Marie 2005
In
the waves of the Surf
she held her daughters hand
running and laughing as
froth curled around their toes.
Seeing the fascination
in her eyes, who in wonder,
watched not the night,
or heard the call of the frogs
in the wind swept trees,
but observed, fascinated,
the rise, swell and flow
of her mothers mood..
Now, in the midst of
a crowded kitchen,
laughing & telling stories,
I turn and see my grandchild,
who with my eyes depth,
watches me, observing,
seeing not the room,..
plates of steaming food,
or hears the words I speak..
but stares at my soul
flicker, dance and pulse, as I
with my mother on the beach.
"The reader" in us,
{caught in a silent room},
"feels" that which pulses bright.
Stuck within a brain cell,
passed down from
mother to daughter,
daughter to grandchild,
is the gift of "sight,"
perhaps passed down
from a Cape Cod witch,
who danced with bare feet
with a magical child.
