A Mother's Longing

As his mother, I imagine Mary longed
to free her son from the cross.
To pull him down and feel
the entirety of his weight
draped over her body.
To look into his face and see
the little boy
he had once been;
the smiles his lips once made
just for her.
And cradling his body in her arms,
she would kiss his forehead, confessing
the depth of her sorrow.
How sorry she was for all of us
who did not understand the full meaning
of his life
and now his death.
In the tomb,
she would somberly and gratefully
wash the blood
from his body
and comb each strand
of his hair into place,
just as she had
when he was her child alone.
Then pressing her lips gently
on the wounds of his feet,
she would remember
the first steps he had taken
into her arms.
And finally,
cupping his hand
against her cheek
she would weep for him,
her son.