Wednesday, September 30, 2015

scarborough fair

God and i
are playing chicken

(women are in the image of Christ.
we know where it's at.
men are in the image of Him
and He is just as immature as them)

He wants to see how bad he can hurt me
wants me to flinch first
wants to declare:
look - not even one was faithful to the end
not even one

He has sent plagues against my house
sowed strife, dissent, chaos
there have been speeding cars
truant officers
and He tried exiling me to the outer reaches of siberia

He has gone to the Wisdom Seat
the Lady wears His crown
while He goes walking in the garden
She wears it with some insouciance
She knows what that smile does
He has said, "the girl you gave me
the slave girl you gave me in your stead
that one is trouble"

and She shrugs
She smiles
She dangles the crown from one finger
"do you want it back yet?" She says
"i'm missing the sunset"

i do not flinch
i have the marks to prove it
i will stand between the salt water and the wet sand
i will dress my Lord in a shirt
all of one piece
and bleed on both the ocean and the beach
and in the end
He will see
that one is faithful
that women never fled the cross


Monday, September 21, 2015

the unspeakable silence of her heart

her heart was without form,
empty,
and darkness was on the face of the deep

h'lev shelha hiyitah tohu va vohu
(this is to say, it was wasteland)

and his spirit moved
over the face of her heart

v'ruachu m'rakhefet al p'neh h'lev shelha
(this is to say, there would be light)

in the beginning.

and in the end?

after the walls fell

biqqash'ti et she'ahavah naf'shi
biqqash'tiv v'lo m'tsativ
(that is to say, the walls fell)

the fountain is dry,
no matter what they say
rooms swirl with emptiness
imagined breeze shifts dust
long congealed on curtains like loosed shrouds

the guards are long gone
the last verse taken with them
no wounds heal
no walls stand






Thursday, September 10, 2015

star girl

They gave to me the strength of many nations
like ishamel, They made me
the cast off of great men and kings

my hand is my Lord's
he who i strike,
he falls dead to the ground
and it is on me
but he who i raise up
is lifted by a strong arm
to walk in light
and the glory is my Lord's

waking, my spirit wakes
when i walk in the sun,
it is the shadow of my Lord that is cast
all my good deeds belong to him

and yet
and yet,
an exile in this land
only the child chosen from among them
an orphan to sit at the table
to eat the crumbs of my Lord's children 

for i have done great things
and terrible things
marks were cut, into my skin
onto the brow of my head
that the world could look, and see
there
she is a slave,
and she has done terrible things

they put this star
here, on my forehead
that it might give light
and give warning

and though my hands have raised up the sick
enouraged the weary
given bread to the hungry
comforted the prisoner
my lips kissed only the dead
the lives i loved, i lost
though many times the stranger lived