By Norman Habel
Mary’s Gift
For long months I pondered
my child within me,
the line of its nose,
the turn of its face.
I pondered in pain
how the lurking shadow of God
had shaped form
or deformity within my womb.
Then we were two,
Jesus and I,
facing each other
with shocks of wonder,
touching each other’s eyes
with lingering questions.
He lay in my open palms, so small,
oh so small,
as if the pressure of my fingers
would count as cruelty.