Those quaint medieval paintings I’ve seen
of Mary’s crowning don’t do much for me.
You know the stuffy, courtly ones I mean—
God and Jesus stiffly on their thrones,
with the little Holy Spirit bird between
The King holds the crown above her head
like he’s still deciding if she should be queen.
There’s something glum about them—something dead,
as if they’re not really glad to see her.
They seem distracted and disinterested,
sweating a little in their brocade robes,
golden crowns weighing on their royal head.
They’re wondering how soon it can be over
so they can change and go hunting instead.
What if the blessed lady’s crowning
were not like a medieval court