Hymn

Messenger

In that space where he fluttered inside you

(and I when I say him it is not so much

about gender or form, although I know

no other name for him than Gabriel),

the seraphim who rested his wings

waited in your belly and whispered against

your innermost ear the secrets that you

were, for so long, too afraid to know—that

you were good, not merely good enough,

but absolutely deserving in a way only

the intensely faithful are; and the universe

was replenished with your understanding,

the world finally grew large enough to

accommodate his joyful soaring, too

divine for human eyes to bear, trumpeting

your true name—mother—in a thousand

languages across every sky that ever existed.