Cara Chamberlain Mary Magdalene Came to the Tomb Early, While it was Still Dark — John 20:1 When the morning star rises, she dresses and goes out, arms full of mint for the cleansing. Once, she'd been fearful. Even the frills of peonies — wine-dark — seemed to conspire. Now she dips well water, cleans His face and hands. With incremental lightening of the barren hills, she breathes, sings — floating past His death. Mary's fear dissolves: to kiss her now is to fly from nerve and muscle. If He's flesh and drink, she's incandescence — guide, teacher, soul. Cara Chamberlain's work has appeared in Boston Review, The Southern Review, Tar River Poetry, Passages North,
and similar journals and has been featured by Poetry Daily, and she has
received three Pushcart Prize nominations. She is the author of two
collections, Hidden Things (2009) and The Divine Botany (forthcoming).
|