From the beginning when her boy is little
Mary watches, marveling at what he does.
His first everything: laughing aloud,
first step when she puts her hands out toward him,
calls to Joseph, “Come and see!”
Later, calls again when her boy at two
intently hammers the wooden peg as if conversing
with the toy his father made for him.
Each first, a beginning again, each moment new.
 
Life beginning at conception, again at birth,
at adolescence – age twelve, everything shifts –
the voice, the key in which he sings: the very song.
After three days they find him in the temple;
“Did you not know . . . .?”
as if to say, “Come, see, listen to what I am learning.”
Mary anxious, angry, relieved, marvels at her boy.
Has she in her everyday mothering forgotten to whom
all children and her boy in his unique destiny belong?
 
Time passing, she sees how others seek him.
his wisdom and kindness.  “Where are you living?”
they ask, yearning to know how to reflect his light.
The young rabbi answers, “Come and see.”
Again, a shift in his heart mind and soul unfolding –
the place of compassion from which he is living now
is not the same as those moments and years ago.
 
Each moment an ending – a beginning anew –  
here, now in this place, clouds passing one by one
across his numinous face darkened. Ah . . . pieta.  
Mary, her heart broken, marvels at her boy.

   

Shared by Margie