slipping out the door,
racing home quick as feet
can meet the air.
But no matter how fast I flee,
step by step
guilt gains on me.
Thoughts on the Long Walk Home
I.
It’s not that I thought
angels would sing,
or the sky would part.
I’m not a kid.
But I did think
there’d be this trade,
that I’d give something up
and he would too.
Instead,
I’m somehow less
and his more
is still locked away
in a mystery
of bone and skin,
and the sin of it
is that I’m empty now,
and keyless.
II.
It wasn’t worth
all the guilt,
I know that much.
Besides, once he got past
the feeling-up part,
it was mostly pain.
Why do all those
stupid songs say
the first time
is the best?
III.
What would Seth say?
I’m not ready to tell her, yet.
Not ready to see the look in her eye,
the one that says
What happened to the promise
you made to God?
Sorry
I wish it was easier
breaking God’s law.
I wish that commitment band
didn’t burn my finger
like lye.
I snatched it off that night,
opened my bedroom window
and tossed it.
If Mom asks where it’s gone,
I’ll say I lost it.
What’s one more lie?
I already told God
I didn’t mean it,
that I hadn’t planned
to give myself away.
But just between me and you,
that’s only half true.
Thought Soup
My mind’s a mess.
Wasn’t it yesterday
I looked for Trey around
every corner, down every hall?
Now, for the last three days
all I do
is duck whenever
he comes into view.
I need time to think,
to figure out
what I’m feeling
and why.
Instant Message
I switch on the computer
Mom worked overtime
to pay for,
check my IM
and click on slickwillow,
the screenname Coach
gave my best friend, Sethany,
‘cause she’s tall and willowy,
and the enemy always
counts her out,
thinking she’s a girly-girl.
But once she hits the court,
look out,
‘cause she’s a slammer,
and God help the girl
across from Sethany
when she’s at the net.
“hey! waz up?”
The words pop
on the computer screen.
“before you answer,
wat’s a 6 letter wd
for sequester?”
“wat’s sequester?” I write.
“sigh. that’s Y U cant
beat me at Scrabble.
U have heard of the dictionary?”
“whatever,” I write.
“i’ve got more important things
on my mind.”
“oooh! this is going 2 be hot,
i can tell.” ☺
“well, i was with Trey last week.”
“and?”
“i-was-with-Trey last week.”
“OMG,” Sethany writes. (:0)
“exactly.”
Wish
I didn’t tell Seth this,
but I wish I had waited.
I know, God.
You wish I had too.
How come your voice
is coming through loud and clear now?
Why couldn’t I hear you before?
Never mind. I know.
Call me Jonah.
I was too busy running
in the opposite direction.
Just one more thing
for which I have to take the blame.
The next day
Seth nods to me
across the classroom,
like always.
Except there’s something off
about her silent hello,
a look that says
I guess I don’t know you
as well as I thought.
Email
“Waz up, girl?
Hardly seen u since-
u know.
I’m missing u.
When can we meet?
Trey.”
I hit delete.
Wish I could do the same
with that one, wrong night.
Let’s Talk
The next day
Trey meets me after class.
He leans in for a kiss.
I love those lips
and get lost in them, for a minute.
But then I come to my senses.
“Trey, we need to talk.”
He pulls back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I mean -”
My hands go clammy.
“I don’t want to talk here.”
“Let’s go to my place then.”
A siren goes off in my head.
His place? Alone? Again?
“Fine,” I tell us both,
promising myself
this time will be different.
Dr. Jekyll
Inside the door,
Trey drops our backpacks
on the floor,
and reaches for me
as if he’s grown
an extra pair of hands.
They’re everywhere-
at my buttons,
fiddling with my zipper.
I push him away.
“Stop it, Trey.
We can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
I’m sorry.”
Trey goes stone-still,
then drops his hands
to his sides.
His eyes go glacial.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
“Whatever.
I need to hit the shower.
You know where the door is.”
“But Trey-”
“Go run hot and cold
somewhere else.”
Do-Over
It’s me.
I must’ve done
something wrong,
not made myself clear.
I mean, he loves me, right?
So it shouldn’t matter
if we’re not together
like that.
Maybe if I just
explain it to him right.
I’ll try again, tonight.
Phone Call
He won’t return
my texts, or phone calls.
It’s all I can do
not to wait for him
at the gym
after basketball practice.
I just want to ask
what happened to him loving me?
Why can’t we still be
together?
I don’t understand.
He said I was his girl.
He said he was my man.
Vanishing Act
Days disappear in a haze
of Shakespeare, career fairs,
pop quizzes, history homework,
and the white noise of teachers
calling on me
for answers I’ve suddenly forgotten
how to give.
Reality Check
I’m slow.
But even I know
this isn’t going to work.
Just try telling that
to my heart.
Exit
My head keeps spinning.
I need some space to think.
Later that day, I say to Trey,
“Look. I can see
you want to cool it for a while,
so let’s.”
Trey is all shrugs.
I wonder what that means,
but not for long.
“Yeah, well,” says Trey.
“Whatever.”
I suddenly shiver
in the winter
of his words.
Pit Stop
The bathroom
seems light-years away.
I barely make it
before the flood of tears
puts my shame on display.
It’s official.
I live in regret.
That’s the black room
at the end of the hall.
Call before you come.
I may not be
in the mood for company.
The Book
These days, I wake
and look at The Book,
a familiar stranger
collecting dust
on my bedside table.
I haven’t felt the weight of it
in my hands for weeks.
How can I even
call it mine anymore?
I know the score.
It’s fragile pages
make it clear:
sex outside of marriage is sin.
Spin it any way you like,
I blew it.
One voice tells me
to search the Psalms
for forgiveness.
Another says
Don’t go crying to God now.
And so I pull away and stew
in a new kind of loneliness.
Substitute
I slip into my mother’s room,
raid the small shelf by her bed
hunting for a book a little less holy,
some story about God twice removed.
I know its crazy,
but I need to feel Him here,
just not too near,
you know?
There was this one book I remember,
something Mom used to bug me to read.
What was it?
I scratch my memory
with a finger of thought.
Come on, Mister. Think!
I tell myself.
But it’s no use.
Frustrated, I take it out
on her door,
slamming it on my way out.
Good thing Mom wasn’t
home from work,
or I’d never hear
the end of it.
In Plain Sight
I collapse into Mom’s recliner
and reach for the remote,
my drug of choice.
My fingers graze the cover
of a dog-eared book
sitting face-up on the end table.
The title clicks:
Mary, Mary.
That’s it!
The book of poetry my mom
has loved forever,
a book about Christ’s mother.
I quickly scan
the first few pages,
find the language
a little old-timey.
Still, it reads like a diary,
and the mystery of that
makes it worth
trading in the remote.
I slip the slim volume
into my jeans pocket
for the short ride to my room.
I figure I’ll flip through
a few pages before
hitting the homework
like I’m supposed to.
That’s the plan.
Stirring Memory
Our golden boy
nestles in my arms,
clutching my breast
nursing, oblivious
to the braying of donkeys,
the mooing of cows,
and the smell of offal
pervading this stable
in the heart of Bethlehem.
Joseph hangs over my shoulder,
his face a mask of wonderment.
I sigh, no less in awe
than he.
Husband.
Mother.
Son.
These new words
roll round my mind
like shiny marbles,
bursting with color and light.
Was it truly only
nine months ago
I blushed
at the very idea of a wedding bed?
So much has happened since then.
I close my eyes, straining to remember
a time before the angel Gabriel,
a time before the Lord Jehovah
visited just long enough
to turn my world
upside down.
Silent Conversation
Early evening
is my favorite time of day.
I take my time
winding down the hills of Nazareth
to the village well.
My feet know the way
so I can concentrate on enjoying
my silent conversation
with Jehovah:
me meditating on his word,
Him speaking to my heart.
Some evenings,
when the wind strokes my cheek,
I can almost hear him
call my name.
Dawn
Playful pouting is not seemly,
Father told me,
not during the holiest of seasons,
and perhaps he was right.
But I do not understand
why I must be
as heavy and somber as he
at Passover.
The coming festival fills me
with joy-
a few days away from Nazareth,
another chance to stand
in the temple of our God,
another opportunity
to feel the sway
of sweet psalms sung
by the Levite choir there.
Why should such wonders
weigh me down with the sadness
I see on Father’s face?
Mother reminds me
that each of us comes to Passover
with a different heart.
What matters, she tells me,
is that we give that heart
to God.
Her wisdom is enough
to send me to Father’s side.
“Forgive me, Father,” I say.
“Let me help you pack
for the journey.”
A Thing to Ponder
I lie on my pallet that night
wondering what it was like
when the Angel of Death
stole the firstborn
of all under Egypt’s wing,
save those blessed ones
whose homes were blood-marked
for salvation,
those faithful Jews
who knew God was
as good as his word:
Pharaoh’s kingdom would suffer
until he set God’s people free.
Would I have shuddered
as the Shadow of Death
passed me by?
Would I have had
enough breath left
to praise Jehovah?
And now, because of that
long-ago night,
we Jews are free,
Pharaoh having lost
his taste for Jewish slaves,
the life of his young son
a price too high
after all.
Jerusalem, City of God
T
he latter rains
have wet the earth,
but my poor eyes
are dry as the desert wind.
The three-day journey to Jerusalem
punishes with aching calves
and blistered feet.
Why is it I always manage to forget
the tedium of this trek?
I feel a complaint
rising to my lips,
but bite it back
when I remember holy Scripture.
“Let the Israelites keep the Passover
at the appointed time.”
I chew on God’s words,
determining to put one foot
in front of the other.
I shade my eyes
and look ahead,
finding my betrothed in the distance,
his gait as steady as it was
when we left Nazareth.
He may be closer to my father’s age than mine,
but Joseph will make a fine husband,
I think for the hundredth time.
Then I’m distracted
by the glittering jewel
rising out of the desert:
Jerusalem!
The setting sun bounces golden
off the walls of the temple
where Jehovah resides,
and my heart beats faster.
I awake to new strength
surging through me,
and lengthen my stride.
As we draw closer to the Holy City,
I pick up the pace,
pausing every now and then
to wipe away my tears.
Reflection
Back home in Nazareth,
my family and I
relax after dining,
sated with food and new memories
of the Passover festival.
The songs of the Levite choir
still ring in my ears.
My soul carried them with me
like waterskins,
refreshment for
the long journey home.
The glint in my father’s eye
reminds me of
the golden incense holder
I’ve heard men speak of.