This Marriage - Jan Owen

The Well

After the angel had been
and her father's first anger was done
she left her mother wringing
a chicken's neck tight-lipped
and sank down by the courtyard vine
and felt her gorge rise up.
She had half-forgotten the light.
Here only her queasy heart
like a flapping wing
hens'-down filling the air
with a warm bird smell
and the dull weight at her core.
She leant on the trunk of the vine
hard as the sinews of her fathers
till the sickness passed
then pulled herself up
and took the two buckets—
the new one Joseph had made
and the rickety one
with the handle worn.
O n the path to the well
the fallen olives
purpled her sandals with their stain.

Straw

Joseph stayed unsure
in spite of the dream.
When the pains began she was calm
as the oxen in their stalls
who shifted and sighed and knew.
H e was afraid. This was woman's work. Somehow
he got a fire going and had some water warm.
In the end it was easier than he thought
the boy slipped into his hands
neat as a trout
and blinked at the stable's dim gold world.
H e washed and swaddled him
and put him to Mary's breast.
Then remembered the afterbirth
in the straw somewhere
and carried it out and fed the fire.
H e was washing his hands with snow
when the shepherds came
two dumbstruck men and a boy with a lamb
a gift they said for the newborn lord
wiping away all doubt
with this odd hurt—
the heavenly hosts had not appeared to him.
He bowed his head and led the strangers in.

The Blue Gown

( Highly fuckin' loves iconographic references )