Twelve Years Ago
| I began to die. All my beauty and wealth could not bring life. Twelve years, doctors charlatans recriminations and accusations unclean. I heard about a man they said a mere look was life. How often I watched the crowds from my window. A glimpse was not enough but a touch? Audacity! How long since I had touched or been touched? I preferred stoning to this miserly death. |
Joy was born. Barrenness birthed a daughter of love. Twelve years, laughter first words, first steps blooming hints of maturity betrothal. Who listens to the chatter of slaves? Miracles, bread, healing… But one remembers when joy is cut at the roots. One remembers when an only child becomes a blight stricken tree. I was a leader of my people He had to come, didn’t He? For all my authority, before Him |
| Who Touched Me? |
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| I said I preferred stoning. “I did.” Before all this crowd I must speak my shame. Faith? Made well? Go in peace?! I will never leave You, my Life. |
Why do my servants push through the crowd? No – dear God – No! My grief in a crowd of strangers. Sleeping you say? Preposterous! But now I am merely amazed. |
