Magdalene

Magdalene

You come,

Pulled by what?

A voice? a look that did not hold disdain?

You know not why, but

As hungry moth to flame,

you consent!

To breast, to heart,

You cradle spices – smelling sweetly

of your impending death.

Your passing from this land,

this long-lived, weary Egypt,

pressing down your alabaster worth –

with slavish, muddied lust –

your own – and that of men

as dead as you – though they know not.

And here at Simon’s door,

Behold! The Promised Land, so near, but far

Across that finite floor.

Waiting, watching,

With eyes that say they know

Why you have come.

Those eyes! that call - that plead - like Moses

Go forward! Go forward!

Through sea of doubt, of shame, of fear –

Through pressing walls of Pharisaic scorn.

O come, beloved, come!

thy winter is over and done.

O brave Magdalene,

Dissolved in sea of salt teared sorrow,

Crash, heart-swelled on that promised shore.

And through the red-sea’d parting

Of thy woman’s glory,

Of thy cascading curls,

Emerge. Seek. Touch. Taste

First fruits of thy New World –

Sinless soul,

In Love’s embrace.