Holy Mother, when the angel Gabriel
greets you in Nazareth, you seem
more fearful of his presence
than the news he brings.
Was he not soft spoken? Were his wings
not magnificent, their silken feathers
glistening in the sun? If only
an angel had counseled me. Perhaps
I would have chosen differently, assured
by his beauty that all things
are meant for glory, even a child born
to a young girl steeped in sin,
whose longing for her lover’s touch
gleamed more brightly,
more beautifully than the flames
of hell are horrid. If only I had laid eyes
on those ethereal, silken wings.
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