“Mary, of Magdala”
Galilee, a crystal wave of scales falls into a boat. A tiny girl, Miriam, picks up a sardine, holds the wiggling fish in her palm. 1. Dripping with liquid beads, I am hasty, out of water, for the crackle of heat, coals for roasting. I tend the fires and turn the spits as fish skins dry and curl and crisp. At my feet, they are many. Silver slippers squirm, water alive on land. I see their black beads, flashing with sunlit terror. Father skims masses with his nets each night—enough to feed all Magdala One, perhaps this one, with rainbow […]
The full content of this post is available to subscribers. Subscribe now or log in!
