Lest I Be Accused of Mariolatry
Years later I heard her
Mocking derision
Like an echo.
As though the Saints
And Holy Water
Could heal,
Would heal,
What her prayers had not:
A brother whose legs would not walk,
A sister whose mind would not work.
Taken back to the site of
Her alleged betrayal,
Instead I wonder at the
Magnificence and beauty
Of the images towering above
Gilded
With love, eons ago.
Idolatry:
The fine line
Between the praise I have for the filament
Connecting me to Divine
And the one you’re afraid I’ll worship
Instead of your tightly-controlled take
On the nature of numinousness.
I am so touched by this — I can taste the words.
oh thank you Barbara. Your poem reminded me of this one of mine: http://www.yoni.com/motherf/mary_mother.shtml
Beautiful poem, Barbara, and speaks for so many of us. Thank you for sharing this.