He pulled her close
laid kisses on her forehead
resist the flesh, he preached
then took refuge in hers
whispered in her ear:
if only the timing were different,
you would be my mission
but I must do God’s will
it was written in the stars
she would fall in love with him
when he stood up to the licentious
crowd casting stones
I too, have knelt before men
who’ve washed their feet on me
the urn they trusted me to hold,
dropped and shattered, this faith
too heavy, my hands too
small, and I still look for Him
in the mirror, somewhere in the eyes
behind this worn face, it is the meek
and the broken-hearted—and the unloved—
who inherited the earth
in all its remnants
