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Magdalene

January 4, 2010

 

What if I am the daughter of God
made in Her own image,
what if I heal grazed knees and
feed masses with one fish
behind closed doors –

not preaching loud on mountaintops,
just doing quietly in kitchens
what you speak loud on every corner –
who do you think it was that picked up
the tables once overturned,
who washed and cared for Lazarus,
once arisen?

What if I, not needing to proclaim,
did unwritten,
while you, needing to be written of,
did out loud –

even your death was displayed.

I died too.  After you.

No one remembers how.  No one has forsaken me.

Written 28 April 09 – ER

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2 comments

  1. Interesting.


  2. This…is by far…my favorite.



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