Advent poem 3: Mary







At first a fluttering

then a kick,

his fist pummelling my ribcage

when I knelt to pray.


They sent me away,

my belly burgeoning

shame on his name,

his eyes looking right through me.


Amazed, he took me back.

He muttered

he’d seen him too

but best not mention it in company.


I sang then,

hymning prophecies

that were poetry

inventing themselves on my tongue.


The riots and the cold

you know about.

The roadblocks.

That donkey.


Let me tell you

nothing prepares you

for that O

cracking your pelvis,


his fists flailing in air

as if from nowhere,

tarnished wings

of an angel.


They say I said nothing

but treasured these things in my heart.

Pain overruled my throat

and hasn’t stopped since.


None of us gives birth

in silence.

I was no one’s favourite girl

till this.


    • Anthony Wilson

      You are very kind, and welcome! Thank you

      Good wishes

      Anthony Anthony Wilson

      Love for Now, my memoir of cancer, is availablehere

      Riddance, my new book of poems, is availablehere



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