The Woman Caught

Early in the morning he came again to the temple. All the people came to him and he sat down and began to teach them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them, they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground. When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, sir.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.” John 8:2-11

Sometimes I wish he had let them stone me.
Sometimes I wish I could go again to my lover.
Sometimes I pray for death.

Once I was beautiful.
Once I was young.
Once I was wealthy.

I had a husband.
I had children.
I had a lover.

My husband divorced me.
My children won’t speak to me.
My lover, ah my young lover…

Who is he with?
Has he married?
Does he love her, as once he…

No, those memories are forbidden.
That life is dead.
That person, the woman I was then…

I need to remember my terror.
I need to remember my shame.
It is easy to remember their cruelty.

I remember their plot.
How they tried to use me.
How they hated and feared him.

They talked but not to me.
They dragged me.
They despised me.

They shouted but he spoke softly.
They stood proud and straight.
He stooped and fingered the ground.

They argued but he kept writing.
He spoke and they went away.
One by one they went away.

I was so scared.
I groveled, waiting for the first stone.
I don’t remember what he said.

Until he asked me who condemned me.
I looked up and they were all gone.
Even my husband had slunk away.

I said no one who condemned me is here.
He said then he did not condemn me.
He said go and sin no more.

But then they killed him.
He died on a Roman cross.
And his mercy died with him.

Now I do not sin.
Now I beg for crumbs.
Now I wait for death.

Sometimes I think stoning would have been better.
Sometimes I wish for a faster death.
Sometimes I hate him for saving me.

He saved me but could not save himself.
Though Mary says he lives still.
Mary says she talked to him.

Mary reminds me of him.
She has the same gentle strength.
Maybe I will go with her, as she asks.

Go to the people who believe he still lives.
My savior still lives.
Can it be true?

I Went

[Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly. Matthew 15:21-28]

My husband said, “Do not go.”
My mother said, “Do not go.”
My friends said, “Do not go.”
Still I went.

They said, “Those people will spit on you.”
“They will not let you near him.”
“He will not even look at you.”
Still I went.

“Do not humble yourself
Before that accursed people.
Do not waste your time.”
Still I went.

I went without hope
But with my great need
Because my daughter suffered.
So I went.

She writhed and twisted
She raved and cursed
She grew thin and dirty.
So I went.

A mother does not need hope.
A mother does not need faith.
A mother only needs love.
So I went.

And they did curse me
They pushed me aside
They called me a dog.
When I went.

I begged for crumbs
I groveled without hope
With only love.
When I went.

He met my love with hope
He named my love faith
And he did as I asked.
When I went.

Now I watch her play
I hear her laugh
I sing songs with her.
Because I went.

Driving from Richmond to Bremo

We drive home through tree tunnels
Gray skyroof barely visible
Through green and brown ceiling struts
Green fingered walls, now close, now further,
Yield downward to brown columns
Gray floor with yellow and white accent lines,
Sided with green grasstiles.
We drive home through tree tunnels
Now bright, now shade, now straight, now curved
The tunnels appear and disappear with no warning signs
Yielding to wide pastures, usually
Occasionally a house, rarely a small town
Just once or twice a bridge over a river.
We drive home through tree tunnels
Quietly enclosing us with the news
That she is, or soon will be, dying.

Contra Donne

Death humbled is no more than brief sleep.
So says Donne, impudent, confident poet.
But if rest and sleep be just poor pictures of death,
What then of sleepless nights, of restless sleep?

Are nightmares harbingers of hell?
Do we toss and turn, each long night, in sleepless beds
As we will, one eternal day, toss and burn in hell?
Ah, please, God, no.

It is eternity enough to lie with wayward thoughts
Black as a moonless starless sky
Dark as lowering unplayful clouds
Restless as winds that gust only regrets
Toppling my flimsy barricades of excuses.

Death, though humbled, remains powerful
Storm enough to sink sleep
Leaving me stranded on a dark sea of doubt
Treading memory’s wakefulness
As buoys of peace graze my eyelids
Only to surge away.

Breaking Through

The cows broke through the fence
Onto the side road, just feet from the highway.
One bright strand of new barbed wire
Ran between the old strands
Held up by older posts.
But the cows, though slow bovines,
Just leaned in
Leaned in and the fence gave way
And they wandered into the road.
You went out to help Andi round them up
Though neither cows nor fence
Were yours nor hers,
But being neighborly
And not being able to raise the owner,
You two went out to gather up the cows
Leaving us two, me and the baby, here
Where just moments ago
I looked over at you
Holding him close on your chest
Beneath your beard.
Your old man wrinkled forehead
Matched his baby worry face –
Six weeks and seventy-two years
Snuggling in the big chair
In front of the window
Beneath the framed picture on the side wall.
The lower edge of the picture frame
Made it into the picture I took
Of you and your grandson.
The hard edge of the frame
A boundary
Holding in all that love
That still breaks through
Even in a cellphone photo.

Waking to Forgive

Once again my dream becomes a nightmare
I reject my daughter who rejects me
In sleep as in life
Although sleep reveals the reality
That reality obscures
Because in the dream, she is 5
Not 35
I am bloody from her thrusts
Though she thrusts with a doll
Not withheld grandchildren.

Each day, I forgive
First myself
Then her.

Not each night
But often enough
My dreams remind me
That forgiveness
Is not a sentence with a period.

Forgiveness is an art
That must be nurtured
Trained
Practiced
Worked at
Attempted again and again
Never perfected

Blinded by the White

I peer
Nearsightedly
At the screen
As news and not news
Scrolls through my mind

The French Ambassador rebukes Trevor Noah
For congratulating Africa on France’s World Cup

Four Alabama policemen are suspended
For giving a down low OK sign in an official picture
Is it a childish game or a white supremacy code?

A young male blogger whitesplains that music is the cause
Of everything that is wrong for black Americans
Not the enduring legacy of slavery, not racism, not white privilege –
Their funky ass music

I think
Sadly
How our eyes – my eyes
Are blinded
By our – my
White skin.

Talitha Koum

Rise up, little girl
I do try
To rise above the patriarchy of the church
To rise above the racism of my heritage
To rise above my envy of others
To float
To the top of the murky sea
Where I swim amongst my nightmare monsters
To bubble up and burst through
To continue up, without wings
Into the sky
Only to find troublesome winds
Blowing me every which way
So that I drown in the rarefied air
Of thoughts too deep for easy
Floating, drifting
How do I swim through air?
I do try
But I tire and sink
Knowing that I can’t
Until again I hear
Talitha koum

One God in Family Unity

God the Father
God the Son
God the Holy Spirit

Or, if you prefer non-gendered:
Creator
Redeemer
Sustainer

One God in Three Persons

But where, pray tell:
God the Mother
God the Daughter
God the Other

Or, if you prefer non-gendered:
Birther
Nourisher
Teacher

One God in Family Unity

Why so dense a theology?
Why so strained a philosophy?
To explain three in one, or more in one
When the family is there
God’s explanation
For all to see

Except that would mean
Recognizing
Worshipping
The divine feminine:

God the Mother
God the Father
God the Child

Holy Trinity
Holy Family
Whole

Spice Song

Richly roundly smoothly darkly brown
Nutmeg plays the spicey melody
Cloves, spikey and pungent, sound deep soothing bass notes
Long cinnamon sticks, orchestral reeds, lighten and brighten
Nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon:
Rich earthly smells ringing, singing song blankets
To cover tired eyes, wrap worn spirits in
Warmthly richness inhaled comforts
Scently goodness heals
Simply spices
Song