A Woman pushes her red arterial thread through
the eye of a needle doing what can’t be done;
she surrenders fear and every last sorrow penned
in blood or ink, stitching a new word to
the sleeve of her dress,
Fiat—Let it be, Let it be done
within and without, the jar shattering again in her hands,
emptying all wounds, washing them into a sea
of precious ointment for burying her beloved.
Fallen, her man sits in the bottom of the well, in
utter darkness, he
Lets it all be, Lets it all be done
holding hell in his gentle lap, with her needle and red
thread they plant a new seed in-between.
In the morning a rose blooms in her hands.
The egg cracks open.
Mary Magdalene's Fiat
Acrylic on Canvas
24" x 30"
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