Meeting the Black Madonna

In the heart of Spain’s ancient hills

a statue carved from shadow emerges

The Black Madonna

The women- a canvas of mystery and devotion 

is set cradling her son and balancing the world

Centuries ago, the virgin was found 

by weary hands

beneath the cloak of earth and stone

In the dim chapel

She waits

a silent guardian of the faithful

Her face as ancient as the soil

each line carved by prayers 

and fingers seeking solstice

Candles flicker 

illuminating her countenance 

Her eyes- deep wells of calm

meet mine with a gravity

That pulls me to my knees

The weight of her presence

both ancient and tender 

crush me

And in this moment

seeing her for the first time

I am held- not by arms 

But by history’s quiet embrace