Jasna Gora Monastery
Courtesy Wikimedia Commons
She whose face is chestnut stained
By earth and smoke of wax
Face defaced by splint and blade
The slashing of an ax
Who am I? What face? I asked
She showed me who I am—
A silver frame around my life
Around her murdered Son
There’s your soul’s identity
Made full within the frame
From birth’s beginning to the end
Single as you came
A shape you have, good deeds and blame
All for a silver penny,
Though thirty bought the life of Him
Who had no use for money
Grief is mine, the black one said,
Congeals around the heart
And yet the blood of He who waits
Bleeds bright against the dark