she was always late
to weddings & crucifixions,
back when falling
up mountains
was easier than climbing.
not as lucky as Him-
her cross a strange
bed, for easy sleep
as wild dogs howled
beneath sheets too hungry
to let her rest well.
then Mary Magdalene came:
hair flaming over shotgun
lips; with a pension
for drama & needing
to know all the right
questions
but only one answer.
she came for the resurrection,
settled with a kiss-
her mouth a flood,
drowning all chemical
instinct:
mother
never said sleepwalking
could be like this,
how sweet smells of salvation
could offer damnation,
both welcome.
Gold trophy winner
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