do we lean?
is it in memory of a moment in time when you were
excused from a horrible death just
to go on living a horrible life for
forty more years, parched instead of beaten,
was the dessert that much better than the whip.
oh, don’t get me entirely wrong,
I know the destination was never meant to be earth,
in its fickled manner of giving
and taking away, almost at times,
at the same time.
and on that night blood was
painted onto the doorways of the innocent,
or was it the victims… Oh yes, yesterday they were
the victims and today they are the saved.
It can happen that quickly you know.
religion always stole my spirituality.
it gave me a glimpse of what i did wrong
to inherit the earth and promised in
another land, in another life, that
i would be the saved–but not this time around.
this time around it was my turn to suffer
the outrageous fortune of being born to long,
long for this, long for that–then pray that
the longing would go away because it hurt to
want and to not have…so i prayed not to want,
then that was what was wrong–discovering
that it was because i did not want that i did not have.
“you have it all wrong,” they say–you are suppose to want
but not to long—
you have to get it just right–to be saved.
then the prayer turns to gratitude, dear lord,
dear god, thank you for the life you gave to to me,
for the chance to experience the multitude of
feelings jagged here and there, poked here and there
with pains and promises all at once.
yes thank you, i think, for passing me over–this time.
thank you that it was Egypt’s turn–this time,
thank you for making me an Israelite –this time.
Thank you for the faith that allows me to endure
until it is my turn to return to eden, to go back to
the garden–resplendent with gratitude & filled like
a rams horn of plenty.
then god, it will be my turn to praise you,
in all your glory–
but until then, while i am longing,
you too must wait — because while I long, I can
not praise your name.
And who for us will intercede
when even saint’s shall comfort need.
Will you need comforting, God? Will your
angels be enough, if man is too tortured
to stop and think about who you are….
Good Lord, even your son will say, on that
dreadful day, “why have you forsaken me?”
Can you really expect more from me? Or is
it me that continues to think that I should
go on loving you even when
all the oil lamps are out.
But on this night,
we lean, recline in splendid comfort that, for now,
we am passed-over…….