First one to the tomb.
Long black hair, deep brown
eyes, say I. Vigilant in chill
darkness, stars heavy overhead.
You were the first to see
refabricated Jesus, your friend-
now a floating Christ,now close
to but forever distant from you.
You: who knew his smell, his temper
and teeth. Laughed with him.
What was funny to you both?
Watched him tortured in the sun.
What is wrong with people?
That's a pertinent religious query.
At the tomb, soon other women
assembled. (The men, long gone.)
They saw what you saw and talked.
You stayed quiet. My God,
your thoughts, Mary Magdalene:
if somehow we could know them....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem