Her laughter echoes in the silence of desert air.
Her curse rests on my tired frame.
I am resigned to rest and not awake again
for living has been left among the goats and sheep.
I carry only a sharp knife that might slit another’s throat.
Such inconceivable sacrifice! A welcome act for us.
No cairn, nor laden wood, is set for honouring our deaths.
Our carcasses will simply act as finders’ feast.
He’ll claim, “Yahweh – stayed my hand.”
But I do not await a voice.
No Master will speak to this mother’s ear.
I cannot bear the yearnings of the hungry child.
I move away to wait for sleep to come.
Singing voice – like angel touch –
Enters my awareness.
As chorus fills my being, I hear what must be done:
I move again to claim a promise
Of nations yet to be born.
My being - finds meaning - in creation’s promise.
(Genesis 16 and 21)
(C) 2017, A.Koh-Butler