I wonder many things about Mary
Like
Did she cry and scream over Jesus' body
The body she gave birth to
The body who was everyone's
But her's
When she saw the crown of thorns
Digging into his head
Drawing even more blood
Did she lick her fingers and wipe it clean
Take a cloth and soothe back the hairs
Like she did when he was just a boy
Like she had done several times before
Did she wash his like he had done to his disciples
Hours ago
Did she wash the blood off and be reminded of his first miracle
Turning water into wine
Did the thought warm her or fill her with sickness
Did she be unable to drink wine for the rest of her days
Did she see the nails in his hands
Hands she took care of
Hands that took care of her
That took care of everyone
Hands that make things
Be the very thing that killed him
Did she pull at the nails
Until hers was raw and bloody
Like her son
Would she have yelled and screamed at anyone who tried to get close
Close to the limp body of her beloved son
Who never did wrong
Who loved everyone he came across
So much so that believers turned away
Did she think to herself
"They didn't love my son"
Who always had messy hair
Who always seemed to be covered in dirt when he had come back home
Would disappear and come back with wisdom
Who's laugh filled the space he was in
Spoke to fish
Spoke as though they were life long friends
Who loved to run, dance and sing
Loved the feel of the wind
They didn't live my son
They loved God's son
Not Mary's boy
