In her chamber, Mary tries to read.
The dying rays of the day
Turn the walls to amber
And beaten earth the colour of hay,
Gilding the tips of the olive trees
On the hillside in the west.
Beyond the walls and stones
Children laugh as their mothers call them home.
The air is fragrant with musk.
Motes dance in the dusty warmth of dusk.
But peace eludes her.
Shadows lengthen across the stone floor,
Telling of Joseph’s absence.
She wants him home.
She takes up her book
And reads in the prophet Isaiah
Of the promise of the coming Messiah.
“But when, oh Lord?”
She closes her book and her eyes.
Suddenly she is overcome by the smell of lilies
And a change in the light of the room.
She screams and recoils.
In the doorway stands a huge figure —
Quicksilver wings flecked with green reach from lintel to floor —
Blocking the light of the open door.
It crosses the threshold in one step
To kneel before her.
“Shlama lakh, Maryam.”
“Peace to you, Mary.”
The unbroken voice of a young boy
Belies the span of its frame and wings.
Yet she hears gentleness, too.
She can’t bear to look upon it
But feels the light pulsing from it.
Head bowed, he extends a slender lily to her.
Her hands react, as if to insist
In a gesture that both accepts and resists.
Too scared to speak and certainly stand,
She takes the flower in trembling hand.
Its fragrance overwhelms her and,
For a moment,
She faints.
When she recovers, the angel speaks again.
“Mary, you shall soon give birth to the son of God,
By the Holy Spirit conceived,
And Jesus shall be his name.”
Mary hears herself protest, her voice shaking.
“How…how can this be? With no man have I lain!
In my soul there is confusion and pain.”
She clutches at her chest.
“I am scared, my heart has frozen.
Why…why have I been chosen?”
“Mary, belovèd of God, put your heart at rest.
All generations shall call you blessed.”
She catches her breath, one by one.
The shadows on the floor reach almost to her feet.
But the kneeling angel casts none.
She looks up.
The woven reeds criss-crossing the cedar beams
Now glow with a luminous, lunar gleam
Bleaching the room from ceiling to floor.
She spots a swallow’s nest in the eaves
She’s never seen there before.
She drops to her knees to pray:
“Let it be done as you say.”
When she opens her eyes, the room is empty.
With that, Joseph appears.
He crosses the threshold in one step
To kneel before her,
His face pale with the same lunar light.
He bows his head and whispers:
“Shlama lakh, Maryam.”
And the shadows crossed the floor to touch them both.
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