Remember Me Standing

In honor of Mary Magdalene

They will paint me kneeling
on the bones of the sun,
draw threads
of a red past
in my hands, color me
forgotten, write my exit
in a garden.

Our garden.

They will not see
union born
beyond the ken
of human vision, your eyes
the only ones
to name what I hold,
shell of abalone, pearl
of legend, descending,
transcending.

This is not surrender.

Consecration,
conflagration, wing
and river,
orchard and flame, my hands
opening, unfolding
all I kept sacred, the dew
of Eden’s morning meeting
ember and feather,
water and wine.

The years will not treat
me kindly.

Feet heavy and certain
will tread the winepress
of his life, crushing love
into Armageddon,
the black hem
of tradition forgetting
the imprint of our feet
on a stone floor, my name
on his hands.

They will paint me kneeling.

Remember me standing.

S. Rochelle

Image credit Vesky on Unsplash

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