Mary, Gabriel, and Trust

Yes,

And each nucleus--each moutainous, miniature landscape--
divided, divided, divided again,
and the cells in her womb began to gather into a hollow ball--

blastocyst, we call it now, but it didn't have a name then--

Yes,

and the cells fixed themselves to the wall of her womb,
home now, home again--

Yes,

and the small, round globes multiplied and organized

the way the stars and planets had once settled themselves
in the resting places gravity made for them, the way,
in the beginning,
the small, dark sphere of nothing exploded into matter
and wholeness and light--

Yes,

and then the brain, then the spinal cord,

and soon he would breathe, swallow, 

fashion yoke and plow with his father,
study the Word
to turn its message--

Yes,

and she was terrified, terrified, forever
terrified, like any mother.

Sometimes, years later, she woke
wondering, had all been a dream?
and she would reach for Joseph, ask,
Do we have a son?
Did we have a son?

Sometimes, years later, she woke
so certain the story was untangling
in just the right way
that the fear subsided
and she put her hand on her belly
as if
she'd just said those words:

Let it be with me as you say.