“I’m so sick of that word!”
“What word, love?”
Mary and Jo are in Mary’s greenhouse for “clipping hour,” the time in the mornings Mary takes to gather ingredients for her salves and remedies. Mary is taking tender clippings, despite her frustration, while Jo follows and gently mists the plants with lo-dilution rose water in exchange for the clippings. A radio voice hums in the background.
Mags and Jesus are nearby enjoying blueberry muffins in the kitchen as they plan out the Garden’s December “First Friday” event. They pause planning to eavesdrop—it’s not often they hear Mary rattled.
“Immaculate. You know, the word they tried to pin on us for Jesus’s birth? I hear it too much this time of year. It’s like all that new-agey pure and clean crap. This planet, this ecosystem, us humans…we are all so messy and dirty and imperfect…immaculate is such bullshit!!”
“Leave it to misogyny and white supremacy to bring the bullshit. Baby, we know the truth. Don’t listen to ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”
“Preach Jo” whispers Jesus to Mags.
“Sigh. I know you’re right. It just enrages me sometimes. They make that birth sound so picturesque and idyllic. I was in labor for THIRTEEN hours. Also…a virgin birth?? C’mon. Okay. I’m done.”
Jo pulls Mary into a hug as Jesus raises their eyebrows at Mags. Mags gives a sly smile in return. She has an idea.
“Hey Mar.”
It’s a few days later and Mary walks thru the Garden door, shaking out her umbrella and ooh-aahing at a blue, fringed Gucci skirt on the display rack as she steps toward the front counter–Mags asked her to drop by.
“Hello Maggie babe, looks superb in here.”
Only Mary can call Mags “Maggie.” She has used that name for them since…before Mags can remember. Mary is their mentor, their inspiration, their friend. The bond is beyond mother-daughter, though a deep femme ancestral-connection thrums between the two.
“I wanted you to come by because I made you something.”
“Oh? I can’t wait! What is it?”
“So…JeJe and I overheard you talking to Jo in the greenhouse the other day…about the word ‘Immaculate’? Sorry we eavesdropped, but also, it brought forward some deep feelings…y’know, wrath? Rage? Typical responses to misogyny. Anyway, you taught me to ‘pour my feelings into the bottle,’ so I did, and I made you this…it’s called Immaculate.”
Mary stares at Mags as they hand her the bottle. She continues to stare at them as she spritzes and inhales the scent.
After a few moments, Mary closes her eyes and says softly, “Bergamot…sandalwood…what’s the base? Don’t tell me…okay wait tell me.”
“Oak Moss.”
“Oak Moss,” Mary repeats back.
*long pause*
“Oak moss…the green king of bark. Of imperfection. Of spiritual queerness. The murky tones of mess and fecund. Of dirty, sexy sex…the opposite of pure.”
She stares deeper at Mags, who shifts uncomfortably.
“So…do you like it?”
“You brilliant witch. I love it. It’s provocative, it’s rain against stained glass. It’s a skinny dip in a cold, dark river. It’s the sacred heart burning up martyrdom and misogyny. It’s lichen. Literally.”
“AND I used Sandalwood fragrance. So it’s not even fully “pure” plant matter. Immaculate-ly un-immaculate.”
The two femmes laugh, embrace, then chat formulation as soft rain patters against the purple and pink glass windows of the door and oak moss settles into skin.
Pictured is a bottle of Hail Mary’s newest scent, Immaculate. The bottle sits atop an oak log, covered in lichen and moss.
Thanks for reading this installment of Queer Jesus, y’all! And thank you for your patience with me as I unexpectedly paused the blog/newsletter for a few days last week as I processed some grief.
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Follow this link if you’re interested in pre-ordering Immaculate (scent as described above), which is set to begin shipping on 12/6/22.
Be back soon with more fanfic. <3