Mary
We see you not so much a virgin as a bride,
Lady of the undesired, who globally kneel
breathless at the mystery you hide
Behind veiled eyelids. You must conceal
Such dreams behind that soft murmuring
of rote prayers
Offered to the virginity given you
Who has so little need of it. Who cares
In the end what our bodies did or didn't do.
Maintain your holy enigma, your sense of
some unconcern,
And yet be mother and bride, for these
Are the realities for which our ardors burn;
Your silence, your stillness are your ecstasies
Such as no one of us can know, and is that not sad--
You are the woman who once lay down with God.
--John McBride
