Those rugged Semite robes, that tangled hair,
how this one walks, another's face, those eyes ...
They near, the smell of Canaan fills the air,
Ten sheaves bow down - a wondrous, cruel surprise.
"Your servants, twelve, are brothers, sons of one,
the youngest with our father, one is not."
(Ha, that one is! My peace with past hard won,
I'll not go back.) "To jail. You're spies and caught!"
In Rachel's tongue one says, "It was that deed.
It's punishment for how we treated him;
he cried and begged for help, we paid no heed.
Now vengeance serves her cup filled to the brim."
(What's this - they're changed? Oh God, I healed that pain.
Now it floods back, wounds open, bleed again.)
Copyright Violet Nesdoly, 2003.
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