Epiphany,
and three queens approach the manger–
royalty from the south–
following, not a star, but intuition.

Now it's time for Joseph's heart to ponder,
while Mary's quickens,
and she lifts the child
to each woman in turn,
so they may coo,
slip warm, wrinkled fingers around the smooth new flesh,
press lips to the babe's soft belly,
inhale the mix of infant odors.

"Ah," they say,
"So this is the birth of mercy."
"This is the kingdom of mystery."
"This is the shape of sacrifice." 

Satisfied, they present their gifts:
a  mustard seed,
a measure of yeast,
and one, lost coin.

Text and image © 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.