of the stranger,
for one day,
you may be the stranger.
“Learn this wisdom,”
my father said,
“for no one survives alone
in the wilderness.”
“Drink deep,” says Lamech.
“Only a camel travels miles
on a single sip.”
I reach for the waterskin,
and drink my fill.
“Come, Lamech,” I say,
springing to my feet.
“We must not allow this heat
to slacken our pace.
The hills of Judah call to me,
and I wish to see my cousin’s face
by nightfall.”
Sharing Secrets
Zechariah meets us at the gate,
smiling wordlessly.
I assume, as priest,
he has taken a vow of silence,
and think no more of it.
He leads us to the inner court.
Elizabeth welcomes us
with cups of pomegranate juice,
as Lamech and I having been
spotted some distance away.
“Shalom!” Elizabeth calls to us.
As I draw near,
I rehearse what I will say,
what I will ask:
Cousin, what do you know
of angels? Of Gabriel himself?
I have to know!
But, before teeth touch tongue
and my words begin to flow,
Elizabeth declares,
“Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”
God’s spirit descends on me
like mist, and through my tears
I notice the swell
of Elizabeth’s belly.
Six months with child,
Gabriel had said,
and so it seems.
I drop my cup
and lift my hands to heaven.
“My soul does magnify
the Lord!”
Evidence
Elizabeth has a word for this
disease churning my stomach
like rancid butter,
for the way my nostrils swell
at the very smell
of warm goat’s milk,
for this faint feeling of floating
miles from lake or ocean swell.
It is a feeling Cousin
has come to know well,
and she calls it
Proof.
Shrinkwrap
I noticed this morning
the snap on my favorite jeans
seemed to have changed zip codes.
I could hardly hitch the zipper
into place. Shoot.
Mom better give
that new detergent
the boot.
Hands Off
Late for volleyball drills,
I race to the locker room,
dump my open backpack
on the bench, and strip
faster than Clark Kent.
I climb into my gym clothes,
moving too fast to catch Seth
flipping through my copy
of Mary, Mary.
“What’s this?” she asks.
I look up, snatch the book,
and stuff it back into my pack,
totally ignoring the O of Seth’s mouth.
“Well, excuse me!” she says,
meaning nothing of the kind.
But I don’t care.
Some things you just don’t share.
Mary, Mary is mine alone.
At least for now.
Close
Funny how a person in a book
can come to life.
It’s like I know Mary now,
like we’ve been kicking it
half of forever.
I never thought about her
being funny, or tough,
or brave enough to travel
through the wilderness
where there were lions,
just so she could see her cousin.
All I have to do to see mine
is hop the subway.
No way I would have made it
back then.
But I’m glad Mary
can take me along
for the ride.
Guidance Counselor
Miss Wells,
the guidance counselor,
flips through papers on her desk.
I sit across from her,
breathing heavy,
tapping my no-name sneakers
on the floor,
waiting for her to get started,
so she can finish,
so I can go.
“You kids just can’t
sit still, can you?”
I know a rhetorical question
when I hear one.
“So, Mister-
that’s what they call you,
right?
What are your plans
after graduation?”
“To go to college,” I answer,
without missing a beat.
“To major in what?”
She’s got me there.
“You should start
thinking about that,” she says.
“More importantly,
think about ways
to beef up your transcripts.
Find more extracurricular activities
that will look good on paper.”
Yeah, I’m thinking.
That’s what I need,
‘cause I’m not busy enough already.
She’s Right, Though
You didn’t hear that
from me.
But I should get serious
about college.
Let’s face it,
I’m gonna need
all the scholarships
I can get.
Nix on the glee club.
I’ve already got choir.
Can’t stand politics,
so class council is out.
Hmmm.
For the rest of the day,
as I pass from class to class,
I scan the hall bulletin boards,
half hoping for ideas.
One ad jumps out:
a call for tutors
in the library literacy program.
Ding, ding, ding!
If there’s one thing
I love to do, it’s read.
That ad
might as well have
screamed out my name.
Rehearsal
It’s eight weeks since Trey,
and I am almost over him.
In two days,
it’ll be our choir’s turn
to rock the house,
and four-part harmony
never sounded so good.
I close my eyes,
let my soprano raise the roof,
and before I know it
I’m lost in the music,
rubbing shoulders with God,
my faith as natural and easy
as it used to be.
I can’t explain how,
but Mary must be getting to me.
Queasy
My stomach sloshes like
I’m at sea.
What’s the matter with me?
Is this some new version of PMS?
Guess it could be.
It’s been awhile
since my last period.
But that’s one good thing
about being a girl jock.
I don’t get periods
as often as other girls.
The sight of eggs
sunny-side up
makes me want to hurl.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
asks Mom, shuffling into the kitchen
in Sunday slippers.
“You look a little pale.
I hate for you to miss church,
but you can stay home
if you’re feeling ill.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say,
halfway to the bathroom.
“I think I will.”
Twinge
My eyes follow Trey
down the central stairway.
“Snap out of it,” says Seth,
watching me.
I know she’s right,
but I still feel a twinge
when Trey slips his arm
over some other girl’s shoulders.
Good thing I ended it.
Imagine how much worse I’d feel
if we had gotten serious,
and he had dumped me
for the next cute girl
to come along?
And what if I’d gotten pregnant,
or caught some nasty disease?
Like Seth said,
I don’t even know
where his thing has been.
I shake my head
and leave all thoughts of Trey,
and possible disasters, behind.
I know I was lucky this time.
Locker Room
We’re pulling on
our uniforms,
Sethany next to me,
both of us getting ready
for the big game against
Cleveland High.
“You’re getting quite
a pooch there,” Sethany says.
potato chips.”
She was just being flip,
but I cringe,
having to admit
my waistline seems to be
wandering a bit.
Better hit that floor
and work those drills double time.
That oughta shake off
a pound or two.
Fifteenth Birthday
A sleepover
is all I asked for.
Nothing fancy since
I know we can’t afford it.
Mom makes a fuss anyway,
takes me and Seth out for dinner,
bakes my favorite carrot cake
with cream cheese icing,
and serves it with a tiny jewelry box.
Inside, I find a promise ring,
just like the one I tossed,
the one I’d said I lost.
“I know how much
it means to you,” Mom says,
and I cry, because my lie
has made us less close
than we used to be.
“It’s okay, baby,” she says.
“Sorry,” I whisper,
wiping my wet cheek.
Meanwhile, Sethany studies
her perfect nail polish,
keeping her knowledge to herself.
“Now blow out your candles!” Mom says,
giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“And don’t forget to make a wish.”
I’d tell her I’m too old for this,
but I know what she’d say:
Nobody’s too old for wishing.
Squint
Saturday, I stroll Broadway
hunting mangos for Mom.
I slow in front of
Fashion Passion,
and drool over cool clothes
hanging in the window.
A girl with a too-thick waist
stares back at me
and I wonder why she’s
wasting time
checking out
these clingy numbers.
Do I know her?
I step closer to the window,
squint, spy the mirror
behind the mannequins,
and-Oh!
Guess it’s time
for me to go
on a diet.
Sea Sick
LaVonne Taylor waddles into
the cafeteria today,
four months along but looking six.
Kids laugh as she passes by,
but I don’t see
what’s so funny.
In fact, I think
it’s pretty sad.
She’s still a kid,
only fifteen years old,
same age as-
Something nasty rises in me,
like a flood:
thoughts of my pancake breasts
suddenly swelling like dough;
a growing list of shirts and jeans
too shrunken to fit;
waistline slowly vanishing
like some magic act gone wrong;
and way too many bloodless days
on the calendar.
I feel myself
start to drown,
make a gurgling sound,
and, next thing I know,
the school nurse
is leaning over me,
asking, “Honey, are you okay?”
“No. God, no!” I say,
but not to her.
How long I laid on her
office cot, crying,
I’ll never know.
But at some point,
a soothing voice
deep in the core of me
whispered, “Breathe. Breathe.”
And I did.
Prayer
I clutch Mary, Mary
to my chest,
waiting for sanity
to return.
“Help me, Mary,”
I whisper.
“Help me, God.”
Kinswoman
Elizabeth and I
sit in the synagogue
where women are assigned,
rapt in twin silences,
but separate thoughts.
Elizabeth beams,
clearly more than ready
to slip into a mother’s sandals.
But I shiver, wondering
what kind of mother
I will be.
I know so little of babies.
Will caring for a child
come naturally?
I can only hope to match
But where do I begin?
Then, I remember the story:
how Mother wrestled
with the Lord, in prayer,
pleading for a child,
and how, when I came,
she blessed God for the gift.
So, I will start with prayer.
Jehovah, please prepare me
to be a mother.
And Jehovah, I pray
as you knit this child
inside of me,
strengthen him
in every way.
Names
We sit in the evening glow
of oil lamps,
plucking names from the night
like figs,
as if we needed to.
But why not?
This is precisely what
expectant mothers do.
So, for a moment,
we pretend God has not
already chosen our sons’ names.
“Eli has a nice sound,” I say.
“Or Ezekiel,” says Elizabeth.
“I like Tobias.”
“Too plain.”
“Uriah?”
“Never!”
“You are right.
Things did not
turn out well for him.”
“Here is one, then: David,”
says Elizabeth.
“Like the king,” I say.
“Like your ancestor.”
“The one through whom-”
“Messiah will come,” we both say,
and something in me quivers.
I excuse myself for the night,
needing to lose myself for a while
in the world of sleep.
Good-bye
I hug my quiet kinsman,
Zechariah,
and wish Elizabeth well,
though I hardly need to.
The blessed birth of her son
is only a few
weeks away at most,
and she is blissful.
I leave her in the able care
of her midwife,
and say my last good-byes.
Lord Jehovah,
make the months fly
until we are together again,
until her little John
meets my Jesus.
Neighborly
Entering Nazareth, once again
we come upon a riotous crowd,
closed tight around
someone, or thing.
We cannot tell
till Nathan, our neighbor, yells,
“Harlot!
You thought you could
break God’s law, and live?”
We next hear
stone striking bone.
A girl screams and I,
unblinking,
push into the crowd,
elbowing my way up front
just as limestone brick
splits the girl’s skull,
sending blood rushing
like a wild river,
flooding her eyes, her nose,
splattering her once
rosy cheeks.
I peek, now,
from half-closed lids,
wondering what holds me here,
why I continue to stare
at this poor, crumpled girl,
writhing in pain until death
rescues her, a girl I knew
as Salome, young wife of Hillel,
a girl who so easily
could be-
“Mary!” Joseph’s servant
reaches my side.
“Let us leave this place,” he says
and I let him pull me away.
Wordlessly, we head home.
But I carry this girl’s
wretched screams with me,
like a splinter throbbing
in my ear.
Poison
I begged the nurse
not to call my mom,
said I probably just had
food poisoning, or something,
and apologized for crying
like a big baby.
The nurse shook her head,
put the phone down,
looked me in the eye, and said,
“Mary Rudine, my guess is
you’re less than
three months along.
Take my advice:
Tell your mother before
she figures it out