Mary’s Assumption

On resurrection morning
surely He appeared to you,
His mother.
No touch me not pretenses
and excuses about Father
could keep your hands away—
You would have to hold Him
in your arms.
Flesh of your flesh and bone
of your bone,
you would be the first to run
your fingers through the marks
of crucifixion—
and then caress His hair
in that way that mothers do.
You’d think how resurrection
(like growing up) had changed Him
and then see all the ways
that He was left unchanged.
Though victory was won
and the serpent’s head was crushed
you’d weep, even then,
with a mother’s human tears.
Thinking of it all,
you would find the words to say—
Son of Woman, second birth
was so much harder than your first