Luke 2:19

“But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart”

Her child trips toward her

tears squeezing out from between clenched eyes.

His sandal is torn, hanging from his foot

held by only one strap.

No blood, but a small scrape

marks his palm.

A bramble sticks in his hair. 

His mother turns from her masterpiece of dinner,

catches her son, and sits in the dust with him,

letting the soup boil over.

She wipes his face

with the edge of her skirt.

He stops crying, burrowing his head

into her familiar shoulder.

She smiles over him, welcoming

the warmth and accepting

that the small pain now

is nothing compared to what has been

foretold.  He sleeps and she wraps him

in blankets, returning to her work,


(Carly Boucher)