A place of writing and reflection…
And behold, a woman of the city, who was a sinner, when she learned that he was reclining at table in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster flask of ointment, and standing behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment.
There was a woman all right; there was a woman for you,
Warm-hearted, hot-tempered, even her hair was red
And her path was as rocky as the staccato music
her spangles made when she danced to the tambourines.
There was a woman for you – and even Christ knew it;
He knew what was in man. It was the noon of night, perhaps, when He first saw her, Dancing. Maybe she reminded Him of David leaping before the Ark
Because here was the same rhythm, the same swing and timbre of soul.
Christ had a sort of weakness for this whole-hearted lot of human kind,
And He called her, probably with a word that never passed beyond eye.
There was a woman for you, lovely as pomegranate rich and full,
And alabaster clear.
She smashed her life into one white gift and spilled out the ointment
Mostly of tears…she knew a voice in the garden when it said only “Mary” whitely.
The sharp alabaster had worked its way into her wounded flesh.
“Do not cling to me – yet
Or what is heaven for, new heaven and new earth,
A garden Easter-glorious burgeoning alleluias and tambourines
For this woman who, too, was a Mary, that name spilling over with grace
Like alabaster, or like windfall pomegranate seeds.
—Janet Reberdy, rscj, United States
The Faithbook 2012
Poem curtesy of rscjinternational.org