Mary In Egypt

Our best times were in Egypt, when we fled.

I spoke a foreign tongue, and , yes, I prayed

to Isis, screaming till my insides bled.

then sat outside in heat and blowing sand

and watched my baby, mindless as he played,

the goddess his protector in this land.

And when I healed, the old man finally turned

and touched me, and beneath her moon we made

our second baby. Oh, I thought we could

stay there forever. I was still a child.

*

One day he came to me. He shambled, old,

into the kitchen where I kneaded bread

to make my family's dinner. When he said

It's safe, we can go home, that's when I died.

The baby in my womb still drank my blood.

The old man smiled. He always was so kind,

his touch at night more gentle than a bird.

I tried to tell him, but my tongue was wood

and Isis did not answer when I called.

The fatherless one, though, he rose and stood

alone amid his toys as if those words

had killed him too. How could he understand

what angels' whispering voices in my head

had always told me : he was not my child.

We had not run from Herod but from G-d.