Mary, Mother of…

She came into life with
fingers curled in happy moments
eyes fixated on love, parents
bending forward, touching them

they grew through the years
palms growing strong in chores
they firmed up and drew pictures
of life in their strength

as years passed they felt a growing
tummy with a baby about to bring
itself into the world as she once came,
her hand sure, feeling life within

and soon this same hand held fingers
of her own sweet baby, felt the
forehead soon to grow with wisdom,
born in Bethlehem.

And she used this same hand to
shield the sun as she watched
a boy run with the wind, his
sandals scattering dust as he
walked to the edge of their land
in Nazareth

she even held her hand to
his brow as he grew into a
man, with followers gathered
listening to blessed words
by the Sea of Galilee…

and she felt the brow of her
own body as many lashes strained
His body, blood covering Him
like a river that ran nearby

and she tousled his hair with
this same firm hand, its fine
features streaked red with pain as
they laid His body into rest --

placed her palm lovingly on
His wounds after resurrection, His
eye upon hers, His own hand
holding hers before leaving
this earth, soon to return one day.

She is the mother of a King,
Saviour of the world, the
great Jehovah who separated
us from our sins. And she

raises her hands up higher still
in praise of the Mighty One,
He is the Bright Morning Star
ascended to Heaven from Bethany.

© Richard L. Provencher