In the Beginning:
The Creation of Mother and Child
On the first day of creation
the dark waters of the deep
that surround you
gave way to a brightness so commanding
you unfolded like petals
responding to the sun’s heat
while the spirit that lurked within me
departed
leaving a strange red trace.
On the first day we learned
separation and difference
and someone said it was good.
On the second day you learned
hunger and disappointment
because milk and honey did not yet flow
and you returned to an inward curl
to cry or hide
while I appealed to angels on high,
whispered in your ear mysteries of
sang Joy to the World (for it was the season).
And so we passed day and night
Wondering that this could be good.
On the third day we learned
that a certain let-down is part of life,
that paradise,
if it existed once,
comes now in fits and spurts
and is often messy.
By the sixth day I was sure
that in the beginning
was desire,
that this mother-child relation happened
not because you bore my image
but because a wild love
flared at every union
as though my emptied self
were a burning mystery.
Julie Robinson in The Hermeneutics of Charity: Interpretation, Selfhood, and Postmodern Faith, James K. A. Smith and Henry Isaac Venema, Ed.
Image from The Presentation at the Temple, by Andrea Mantegna
