Another Madonna

1 June 2013

Master of Italian marble shapes
you in white,
framed in blue royalty.
Jesus held in one arm your
hand points to your womb, your
engagement with God,
some say Joseph.
Gold halos, you and your son,
he makes the sign, the Trinity,
two fingers point up, one down.
You and Jesus are stained,
but you stand immaculata,
the sculpture maculata,
unpolished white,
darkened folds in your dress.
Your neck tarnished, shoulders
almost black. What happened to the
angelic face?
Dirty creases from candles
and incessant prayers
touches and kisses
clay stains smear you both,
footprints on your faces, and
Jesus knees look bruised.
Your virginal body thrown to the pigs.
Your eyes and his,
shattered.

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