He tiptoes into the room almost as if he were an intruder. Then kneels, soundlessly. His white robe arranges itself. His breath slows. His muscles relax. The lily in his hand tilts gradually backward and comes to rest against his right shoulder.

She is sitting near the window, doing nothing, unaware of his presence. Ah: wasn’t there something he was supposed to say?[1]

Mary, chosen vase
Like any cup, easily broken
Like all vessels, too small.[2]

Her downcast glance
Asks the angel, “Why?”[3]

No one can know
How lonely it is
When an angel departs.[4]

 

[1] The Annunciation by Stephen Mitchell

[2] Nazareth by Rosario Castellanos

[3] The Annunciation by Samuel Menashe

[4] Annunciation by Anna Kamienska

 

[Feature Image: John Meng-Frecker]