by Elisabeth Mehl Greene
Luke 1:5-25
Behind closed doors
the men talked, unwelcoming
no one asked
me
If I want to bear this child—
finally conceive
carry to full term
after sixty
advanced in years
If my body can withstand
a nine-month journey
through pregnancy
If my arthritic limbs
will never drop him
If my hips and back
will not collapse
If I contain
several thousand wakeful nights
within me
If I can keep up
with leaping locust of a boy
through busy streets
Like a swimming sea fish
sleep with one eye open
Falcon’s watch on wild tiny
toddler grasps, gulps, chews
Mother bear’s roar
to protect his head
in a fight
Is my uterus your accomplice,
the shortest route
to prophesy
Do you require my services
beyond male child’s
safe delivery?
How can I be sure
of the deal you all made
without me?
No choice, never assented
“yes, let it be done to me”
I am not Mary
The word becomes flesh
I swell with QUESTIONS
and you say nothing
Not one word
to solicit my feelings,
hopes, fears, anything
Good news, they all gossip
lewd jokes abound
loud—do you hear too
when they implicate you?
Everyone we see everywhere
in town, our families!
laugh endlessly at my aberration
Truly geriatric pregnancy
due winking, jeering, pointing
While mamas in their teens
advise me sagely
I am a miracle
for their inspection
God did this, they say,
and will take away my disgrace
among the people,
someday
