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Virgin Punishing The Infant
por
Carol Ann Duffy
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He spoke early. Not the goo goo goo of infancy, but I am God. Joseph kept away, carving himself a silent Pinocchio out in the workshed. He said he was a simple man and hadn’t dreamed of this. She grew anxious in that second year, would stare at stars saying Gabriel, Gabriel. Your guess. The village gossiped in the sun. The child was solitary, his wide and solemn eyes could fill your head. After he walked, our normal children crawled. Our wives were first resentful, then superior. Mary’s child would bring her sorrow … better far to have a son who gurgled nonsense at your breast. Googoo. Googoo. But I am God. We heard him through the window, heard the smacks which made us peep. What we saw was commonplace enough. But afterwards, we wondered why the infant did not cry, why the Mother did.
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