my dream about the second coming

mary is an old woman without shoes.

she doesn’t believe it.

not when her belly starts to bubble

and leave the print of a finger where

no man touches.

not when the snow in her hair melts away.

not when the stranger she used to wait for

appears dressed in lights at her

kitchen table.

she is an old woman and

doesn’t believe it.

when Something drops onto her toes one night

she calls it a fox

but she feeds it.