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  • Kim Malinowski

Mary as the Sun Sets

by Kim Malinowski


Most people call to me when the sun sinks beneath the waves— candles, wails of need, so much need. Prayers for puppies, lost children, love— too much, too wrong. I was created to give birth to my son who rose. My people needed hope, even as the sun set—they needed to know in their bones it would rise again and that my son would be glorious.


I do not need shrine or statue only whisper in hush. I needed no angel to proclaim the prophesy. I knew in my marrow I was chosen. This earthbound woman—divine. I knew my son would save and love. I ached for that reflection in my eyes. I aged and waited.

III. I felt kick with such light that Joseph had to catch me. He felt light and purpose—divine will—with palm to belly. He stared into my eyes for long moment recognizing our own divinity. I had kneaded dough, seasoned meat—but He had chosen us. Joseph kissed my belly, knowing my son was not his, but as his kissed my mouth hesitantly, he whispered you were destined for this.


I felt my son’s pulse thrumming, our blood bonding us. I sang lullabies of the promised one, substituting his name—proclaiming him Messiah. With every step, brush of hand, hushed giggle, the world brightened. I brightened.


I gave birth humbly, could not see the angels, but my veins throbbed with their verses. Oh, my body ached, but I birthed love. I knew that I would worship his hair, his palms, knowing eyes. No, I do not need lonesome statues sitting at the edge of waves. Call in the stillness of the night and I will sing you a lullaby.

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