Her eyes sad
blue as the sea.
a name plain and simple.
No frills, no boa-feathered scarves.
Photographers clamour to take her picture
like Grace Kelly
Saltwater slides down
gray, stone cheekbones.
The mother of all mothers
chosen to carry His son.
For eternity her eyes cast down
on disciples, gathering at her temple.
She stands in countless places
old and new cities, sacred villages
mountain tops grazing the heavens.
Her arms open, outstretched, empty,
as if waiting for a long-lost lover's embrace.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
The lineups stretch for miles.
Onlookers from all over the world
come to see her face, with
holy water packed in tiny plastic bottles
stuffed into backpacks, leather purses.
A bit of heaven for the price
of a few coins.