Do not malign my silence
I loved my father
and his God.

No one asked how I felt
though I have no regrets;
only one question I pondered
in passing through sun-burnt land
“The place we know, the wood to burn
but Abba, where is the lamb?”

“The Lord Himself will supply,”
were my father’s whispered words.
So when he lay me on the wood
and bound my hands and feet
I trusted him entirely
does not my silence speak?

We sacrificed
the ram
together.

24 August 1990

 

This poem contemplates Isaac’s seeming silence regarding his father’s offering of him on the alter to God.