A medieval illuminated manuscript
shows Mary, who’s handed Jesus
to a mindful angel for safe keeping
while she, sitting atop the devil
like some WWE wrestler,
beats the shit out of him.
In another, she’s poking
the devil’s eye out
or punching him in the face
or both. It’s not clear which.
In one she stands atop Satan
driving a cross into his heart.
Another wrestling one depicts Mary
holding Beelzebub’s arm behind him
with one hand to get him to cry “Uncle!”
as she flogs him with the other hand
so that he’s vomiting up Theophilus’
contract.
In yet another she’s beheaded Satan
with her terrible swift sword,
victorious like St. George with his dragon.
When Jesus gets a little older,
she raises a rod to some
chicken-footed demon,
as if to thump him aside
so she can cross the street safely
with her boy in hand.
And then there’s the one
where she’s hammering on the devil’s head
like a wild blacksmith
while a grown Jesus, hanging out in a cloud,
looks down with his hand up as if to say,
“That’s enough now, Mother.”
The angels in all these works look a little alarmed.
As are we.
Here’s a woman who outmatches
the devil in her blue dress for sure.
In another, she’s poking
the devil’s eye out
or punching him in the face
or both. It’s not clear which.
In one she stands atop Satan
driving a cross into his heart.
Another wrestling one depicts Mary
holding Beelzebub’s arm behind him
with one hand to get him to cry “Uncle!”
as she flogs him with the other hand
so that he’s vomiting up Theophilus’
contract.
In yet another she’s beheaded Satan
with her terrible swift sword,
victorious like St. George with his dragon.
When Jesus gets a little older,
she raises a rod to some
chicken-footed demon,
as if to thump him aside
so she can cross the street safely
with her boy in hand.
And then there’s the one
where she’s hammering on the devil’s head
like a wild blacksmith
while a grown Jesus, hanging out in a cloud,
looks down with his hand up as if to say,
“That’s enough now, Mother.”
The angels in all these works look a little alarmed.
As are we.
Here’s a woman who outmatches
the devil in her blue dress for sure.
In another, she’s poking
the devil’s eye out
or punching him in the face
or both. It’s not clear which.
In one she stands atop Satan
driving a cross into his heart.
Another wrestling one depicts Mary
holding Beelzebub’s arm behind him
with one hand to get him to cry “Uncle!”
as she flogs him with the other hand
so that he’s vomiting up Theophilus’
contract.
In yet another she’s beheaded Satan
with her terrible swift sword,
victorious like St. George with his dragon.
When Jesus gets a little older,
she raises a rod to some
chicken-footed demon,
as if to thump him aside
so she can cross the street safely
with her boy in hand.
And then there’s the one
where she’s hammering on the devil’s head
like a wild blacksmith
while a grown Jesus, hanging out in a cloud,
looks down with his hand up as if to say,
“That’s enough now, Mother.”
The angels in all these works look a little alarmed.
As are we.
Here’s a woman who outmatches
the devil in her blue dress for sure.