…she really is my sister,
the daughter of my father
though not of my mother;
and she became my wife.
Handed over, I laughed at my power.
I am the one who has trapsed across the countryside,
In giant pilgrimage,
Making supper while he builds drystone cairns
to mark our passage.
I am the one who laughed at angels,
Disbelieving or mocking at the joke
It matters not.
Labeled as barren, men think it’s a miracle
But just maybe, it takes two to tango…
If he had paid as much attention
to me as to those rocks…
But – ah – is the miracle for him or for me?
He thinks so much of the promise
That I shall be labeled “sister” by his word?
And what of my good name?
And what of the honour God has promised me?
Perhaps, I get with child by Abimalech?
Not to be dishonoured, but cleaned of neglect!
My power is not in my name, but in my womb.
And so I laugh, for nations will forget their Mother.
(C) 2017, A.Koh-Butler