***

On the seventh of the month

We received the bill for the cross

To which my son was to be nailed

(Miscellaneous fees to be raised

For cleaning up blood and bone

For nails and hammers, in advance)

With costs of living soaring up

And rents and bread and dates consuming

All income honest work can raise

I pleaded for lenience and perhaps a little

Reduction 

But they laughed in my face

And said: Why don't you take to the streets

There's a market for everything

And with a wee mascara and kohl

You'll make a nice piece of meat

No worse than most

I stood,

A silent,

Gaping shadow 

Before the legionnaire,

My eyes lowered in anger,

My rage 

Voiceless,

He raised his hand

It hit my face

My veil hit the dirt

And lay there

"Respect, you whore!"

He shouted

"When you address Rome's proud legions

Your mustn't play tricks with your eyes

Or I'll poke them out of ye

Executioner's bills 

Will be settled and paid

And you'll pay them by selling your own skin

If needs be"

The soldiers laughed 

I was a mother 

Whose son had been seized

(I never quite knew on what charge)

They'd beaten his face to a pulp

And what had once been 

His body

Was now a dish of raw meat

Offered to flies

They kept him in chains,

He'd been sentenced to death

And was awaiting crucifixion

They said there was a reason

But which it was and what

I couldn't quite figure out, see:

He'd never spoken against Rome

For no one can do t h a t

Ah, I remember that evening

Before he went out to the garden

My righteous son, you do not know

What they will do to you!

Such were my words 

But he averted

His eyes and he said:

I know it just as well as you do

I cried: 

Who will stand up for you?

And he answered:

No one

And I knew it was true

Then Maryam came

She kissed his eyes

And tears welled up 

No one was meant

To see

And they conferred in secret

And what passed between them

Only God ever knew

Whom we had then no capacity

To doubt

But my son's eyes cast off

Fear, which is mortality's yoke

And saw beyond mortality

Only then were his disciples allowed 

To see him and to have their meal

After which they fell asleep

Asleep, mind you,

As if there were 

Not a sorrow in the world,

Not a care

Abandoning him

To the long, lonely night

Forgetting started

Then and there

How ever fierce it was denied

And in his dream

My heart touched his:

My son, it asked,

Why must you take

The way of the cross, and 

What he answered was this:

Every lie has its champion

And one can make a living of it

And wealth and fame if it sells

But the truth is the way of the cross

Which we, oh mother, must embrace

For there's no other way

We're captives to Rome's poisoned wells

And this yoke which we bear

In life's preservation or loss

Be we compliant or resisting

Would strangle us anyway

At the end of the day

This little town of Bethlehem 

Was on fire 

And no one rang the bells