Wholly You (A Confession)

August 31, 2010
This poem is deeply personal. It is a metaphor of amazing grace in my life. I dedicate this to my God and Saviour, Jesus Christ; and to my wife Lynn, whose love and forgiveness saved me.

It was completely you
responsible for reconciliation.

The fault is mine for crouching out the door,
walking away from the dwelling
we both built with our bare hands,
down the street and around the corner
for a tawdry, no wait,
          sleazy is a better word,
affair with a strange woman;
make believe quote/unquote love, no wait,
          sex with three x's is a better word,
in the dark fabric of the quilted streets of the city:
certainly castration is a certainty.

Nevertheless you nursed me back
to your milk-laden breasts
with words
of passionate urging, loving guidance, tender comfort.
I stained your back with tears of sludge.
Turning me over
you crossed my heart.
I hoped to die.
I must have been speaking in tongues
when I cried out “Merci! Merci!”
because my lips don't know how to formulate foreign language by themselves.

And now when we make love, no wait,
          the better word is love,
your nails painted blood-rust dig my flesh;
Oh, God! I feel the pain you provide—pain not like yours,
in comparison a tingling, an internal cutis anserina.
The foreign tongue you mastered.

The reason we are becoming one
is wholly you.

Of Priests and Prostitutes

April 2, 2009

My wife Lynn gave out several exclamations as she read this for the first time. I suppose it does border on the "R" rating. But how often do we sanitize the scriptures to fit our Sunday school view. God became flesh and dwelt among us. US. It's not always very pretty "among us". Stuff happens in the "flesh". But Jesus endured. He resisted temptation. And he was victorious. Jesus can sympathize with us. "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15, ESV)

I have combined two separate incidents from the life of Jesus; two different women with similar issues. If you have a problem reading this type of material, please do not read the Song of Solomon. I read this book of the Bible for the first time as a single man in the U.S. Navy. It made me blush.


Of Priests and Prostitutes

Thrown down into the dust,
her tunic torn exposing silky thighs
that beg to be touched,
revealing full breasts glistening with sweat,
a glimpse of a nipple.
                         (Come on. You know you want to look.)
Reviewed by the local Sanhedrin,
                         (Are those names being written in the sand?)
they require judgement.
The scent of her lovers still clings to her loins
and rocks are poised
             to pounce,
             to pummel,
             to purge her
sin, their guilt.
Looking past the passion,
the verdict is pronounced.
All are guilty,
one is forgiven.

As evening wraps its arms around the city;
as the sun caresses and deeply kisses the horizon,
she comes to you.
She has nothing to offer you, save herself.
So she kneels before you.
Hot tears spill from her eyes,
moisten your feet.
She lets down her hair,
stroking
your feet
with her thick tresses,
washing away the dust of the day.
Sobbing.
Bending.
Cleavage bared.
Heaving before you.
Were it anyone else…
And we know you were a man.
You were circumcised—
all the parts were evident
or someone would have said something.

They need not indignantly ask.
You both know
who you are touching.