1 Kings: 1:1–4
Now in the cold part of his life, he lies alone
with no one to warm his memory
of great deeds done for great blessings.
They called me from Shunem to sleep
next to the king, to touch but never
to share his anointed body.
I come with pomegranates and lilies
but not for dalliance, but only
to bring rest to his restlessness.
Readying his bones to go beyond
the temple veil, I help him meet Yahweh
in the deep sleep of my blanket.
A tumor like a portabella on its neck,
a Pomeranian has poked its head
into my timeline where its owner posts
please pray. And later at the Wednesday night
prayer meeting Widow Jones requests a word
of intercession for her Labradoodle
who has a blockage in his doggy gut
and is as bloated as a bullfrog’s chin.
And so at night I find myself in prayer
like this: Oh, Lord of endless mercy, Lord
of grace and wonder please bring healing down
to Cupcake and to Captain Fluffyface.
In singleness of heart,
God breathed his breath into us.
Like a mirror He molded us skin for skin,
Pulchritudinous and wellpleasing.
We were his sweetest and loveliest work
Above and below rolled together.
He flooded us with His blood. His blood—
The sweet smell of frankincense.
Luke 6:27–36
I am eight years old, sitting on the back porch
of my childhood home in late July
a paper bag of unshucked corn at my feet.
Pausing before my task, I watch the maple
oak and beech that wreathe the yard
shimmering in the gold of early evening light
short legs swinging beneath my chair in time
to the breeze that sings in nearby branches and warms
my own bare skin with the tenderness of midsummer air.