Christmas poems: Mary Falls Pregnant; Joseph Looks at Mary; and Mary Sleeps with Joseph. Enjoy them!
Christmas poems: We are near Christmas and half of the world has arranged for a short holiday. We deserve some peaceful days with our friends and family. Meantime and preparing our mind for these days, Yareah magazine invites you to read these three awesome poems by Gerard Rochford.
MARY FALLS PREGNANT
I hid within an angel’s wings,
for comfort, happed in cloud;
received a cover story
for my shame.
I feared my man would leave me,
but he smiles as a lover should,
into my eyes.
My mother tells me
god is everywhere;
in thorns and olives,
love’s rasped hand,
in sweeping, baking,
lighting the fire,
even in the burning of fingers.
My breasts are almost ready.
I eat and drink wrong things,
myrrh, shavings, vinegar.
Today I will walk through the village,
be blatant in the market, haggle,
buy swaddling of best linen,
food for three, a teething horn;
perhaps a song-bird in a wooden cage
to sing at my window as I work and wait.
JOSEPH LOOKS AT MARY
I work around her.
She is a knot in the timber,
her anger is rough bark.
I saw her in the hills,
she and her cousin, intimate as mothers.
Now she says she’s pregnant by ‘The Spirit’.
My friends mock me:
And rams give milk, they chant.
I ransack my mind for her lover,
search my dreams for the comfort of angels.
She promises after it’s born
that we’ll be lovers.
But her eyes darken my days.
I will grow old waiting,
the knot still proud.
I punish my work with rasp and saw,
cut my hands like a novice,
red olive wood, red sawdust.
I am making a crib for my Mary,
it is stained with blood.
MARY SLEEPS WITH JOSEPH
He smells of fresh cut cedar and olive wood.
His hands are rough and scarred,
stealthily touching my breasts,
afraid of my belly, ashamed of his lust.
I reach down there in the bed.
There is sawdust still in his hairs.
He waits in the dark
for the waters to break,
and the birth to set him free.
Then, oh then, my love,
our days will be full of laughter,
evenings dipped with bread into the wine.
I will seduce you with my regrets,
you will unbind me with forgiveness,
until we lie together weak as leaves.
No dream, no vision, prophecy, angel, god,
will come between us.
We will live the mundane miracle of love.
By Gerard Rochford. (From:The Holy Family and Other Poems. Koo Press. Scotland. 2005.)