12 Mar

He stuttered. Sputteredstutter
This man across the counter.
Speech laborious and clumsy.
Like my heart.

With his one remaining hand he gestures
Words and motions coming in fits and starts
grunted motions
and I play Dixon to his Navorski.

Furtively, futilely he tries to communicate
I know not what while
wishing for a “closed” sign.

False shepherd
Miserable comforter
Bastard christ in my heart
more Judas than Jesus;
when He sees the crowds He has
I just look for the door.
He groans in prayer,
moaning, “Ephphatha”
I groan impatience
muttering behind my betraying smile
“God make him go”

The bookstore’s floors are cleared
for a late night polish
but it’s my heart that needs the cleaning.
Numb as my
fingers and feet.
Dull, slow-witted
would that I could blame chemo for this coldness.

Put me on a stage
with a book to recite
all will be impressed
but take this cup of man from me.

In mercy I excel, I’m told
“I will never deny you!”
but over me still the cock crows.

Now I understand better that look
as He turns and beholds
my betrayal.
And with a tender look
rekindles my heart.

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Posted by on March 12, 2013 in Pastoring, Poetry


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