She hung her laundry
her filthy rag righteousness
and the diaspora of diapers
scattered on the Rock.
The babe was sucking at her breast
and the sheep were bleating
in the Garden.
Over her shoulder
billows of factory smoke
blocked the sun
and soot blocked the nostrils
of the animals and of the human child
feeding on her love and her frustration
with dirt and darkness.
But there was a breeze
a Wind was starting to blow,
clouds were forming and she mused,
‘that cloud looks like someone’s coming’
but the visage was hidden
by another billow of soot
that smeared her imagination.
And she returned to her concerns…
Could the sun really bleach the stains?
Was all her work futile?
Why? and Where? and Who? and When?
Then the Child cried out
And a piercing caw from a lone raven
penetrated the morning sky in response
and she looked up.
What?!?
The white linen was ready to put on
- glorious and clean