Then this poem is--
I was thinking about it.
I've written a number of poems about Mary, Mother of Christ.
And it occurred to me, who else in Israel's name is Mary?
You know what I mean?
This is not like Ireland, where people's name is Mary.
I mean, please.
Why are we naming these people with the names
we want them to have?
So this is called "Miriam."
And my conceit here, and somebody told me
you can't do this because of The Da Vinci Code.
Well, that's why I can.
Anyway, my conceit is that she had twins.
"Miraim"-- there was a daughter too.
But I hid her among the back veils.
And the women animals understood at once.
Miss Bussey dropped her teat and fed her.
Miss Ewe folded her in wool.
And old man Joseph never even noticed.
Twins, rare in our village.
So I knew they were special.
She insisted on herself, pushing out before him.
You will ask me what it means.
And I will say I understood none of it, neither then nor now.
But I saw the shadow of blood in the hay.
And I heard angel voices singing, 'Save her.
You must save her.'
And so of course, I did."
I like the idea that save her echoes Savior.
That is not coincidence or anything.