Joseph's Soliloquy 

 

Speaking to her almond-brown hands,

shehad news for me.  

"The Messiah," she whispered. "The awaited one."

 

Her words caught by the coat and spun me backward.

In three swift moments I was deaf with shock

then feverish with shame 

and finally

what grief I felt

-for myself and for this woman I loved. 

 

All my life I've hoped for a redeemer:

"When The Anointed comes…"  I crooned,

savoring hope on my tongue like over-ripe fruit. 

But this is no wish fulfilled,

these desperate words from the girl I thought I knew, 

just the story of a frightened child

ducking punishment.

 

How could this happen to me, 

a student fervent in all things religious,

a man faithful to the rules?

Look at my hands, splintered and wounded.

The carpenter's arts come naturally.

I can shape works of aching beauty from raw wood.

But I turned this over and around in my brain

like cedar on a lathe

and nowhere did I see the blessing in it. 

 

In the end, pity was the emotion I chose. 

We stood huddled in the sharp slant of the moon's light

her face hidden from me.

Our heads naturally inclined together one last time, 

her swith slivered hope  

mine with a new and permanent sorrow.

Watching, you may have thought 

we crouched under a heavenly hand

that sheltered us from rain

and kept us from being swept away

in a fearsome roaring flood.

 

Yahweh,

I didn't see the beauty in your plan

until you followed me into my dreams.

I always thought 

getting a king

would be like opening my hand to a gift

--nothing required but a simple "gimme."

Encased in armor, 

eyes flashing,

the soldier-king would ride into my world,

righting the wrongs of generations

All I would do is stand and cheer.

 

Prophecy is easier 

when you're not a key player in its fulfillment.

 

Now I see how much courage it takes 

to accept 

all that comes with a gift from heaven,

something my will-be wife knows already. 

When I am brave enough I will look into her waiting eyes 

andread a message written there,

Ancient Words

gathering themselves into a child

a savior

twitching restlessly to life.

 

- Shelly Barsuhn

Min-Emergent e-newsletter for 12/23/11