Monday, December 24, 2012

Sunday Poem: Gifts



What gifts do I bring?

In place of gold,
I offer the black-hole vacuum
of my all-consuming
greed.
How can I give,
never pausing
in my want?

In place of frankincense,
I come into his house,
into his heart,
smelling of this broken world.
I open empty hands,
hands too clean,
too smooth.
My hands do not smell
of God's work
for God's people.

In place of myrrh,
I bring fear,
a desperate gaping need
to never die, to never
feel weak.
I can anoint him only
with pleas to keep me safe,
keep safe the others
that I love.

I am no king and no wise woman.
I am only a broken
mother,
struggling to rise above
myself,
so I can offer Jesus
anything at all.

1 comment:

  1. I love the last part. This poem comes to its perfect, logical end. I enjoy reading this blog. It provokes me to think!

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