God wanted to come down to try some flesh,
an antidote to formless bliss.
He wanted to get with his creation.
Mary was one of those totally unremarkable girls
until God picked her out of the crowd, saying,
let’s use her, she’ll do. An angel came
and made a hole in the top of her head and God
poured himself in like a pitcher of heaven. She felt
her magnificence from above. She was not afraid.
When God emerged out her other end
nine months later in a pigsty, small and wrinkled,
his first thought was what the hell?
But Mary’s eyes were on the star. She saw
that there were animals to be blessed and kings
to be humbled. There were shepherds to be amazed.
There were disputations in temples
and adultresses to be saved.
There were disciples to be chosen.
There were little children to be gathered
and sheep and goats to be separated. There was
water to walk on and dead to be raised.
There were parables and betrayals and crosses
to bear. There was torture and death and a shy girl
who went forward anyway toward a broken heart.
There was a rising mystery, and a set of questions,
and among the many answers, her reply: be still
and unremarkable. Open your head to the sky.