Shepherd
Luke 2:13–14
As winter cold leans hard upon my back,
I long for once-upon-a-time when I
Was small enough my elders watched the black
Night through and let me sleep. Only the cry
Of the ewe in lambing time caused them to make
Me rise; my hands were small to ease a birth.
I minded them and rose. This night I shake
Beside the fire. Wind blowing from the north,
Disturbs the boy I used to be. No stars
Blanket his sleep. Once to voices brilliant
In light I woke. We found a child not far
From where we kept our sheep. Rough celebrants,
We woke his mother from her careful rest.
Like a lamb newborn he nestled at her breast.
In Rama There Was a Voice
Matthew 2:16–18
“The king requires your son,” I said. No more
Herself than a child, the infant’s mother turned
Her head. Her hand closed white against the door.
She knew an end had come. Her silence earned
Her mercy I refused. I took the life
She held and stepped outside. How does one kill
Before a mother’s eye? Not with sword or knife.
Not with thrusts that once begun would fill
A street with blood. I cradled the infant
And mouthed into its ear a lullaby.
Over its puckered mouth I closed a tyrant’s
Frightened hand. I squeezed so it could not cry.
The mother-child clutched my arm. The night
Became a winding sheet. There was no light.
Resurrection Song: With Money in their Hands
Matthew 29: 11–15
What you must say you won’t find hard
The elders told the hapless guards:
Say He was stolen while we slept.
His thieves will spin the world, except
We make a truth of our canard.
No judge will find your sluggard
Hour fair cause to launch hard
Words at you or to suspect
What you must say.
The guards obeyed the elders’ word
And told of bodies, haggard
And overcome when starless night crept
Round the stone-locked crypt.
With money in their hands it was not hard
To say what they would say.
Recognition
John 2: 14–15
Luke 2: 48
There was, I thought, something about the man
Familiar, an image pressed on the coin
Of memory. But slow, afraid I’d join
The fallen under toppled tables, I ran.
I’m sure, now, I needn’t have. His harsh whip
Sought the rash of thieving profiteers
Hawking oxen, sheep, and pigeons, their sneers
Mocking country pilgrims come to worship.
I crept back when breath returned. Around
Him stood the Pharisees. His zealousness
For the Father’s house brought back a scene. Years
Ago I watched a quiet boy confound
The elders. As then, I saw his brightness
Was a sword. His mother’s love would end in tears.
Zebedee
Matthew 4:21–22
Two sons I gave the Lord. Not willingly.
Our shadows stretched across the narrow shelf
To where the deep water darkens Galilee.
The night of labor ended, I knew myself
As blessed. Two faithful sons, a crew of hands
To pull a weight of fish that I alone
Would lose. Such easy work to give commands!
Such joy to see them jump. The light that shone
Upon my back was good. A net profit
Rose each morning. Laughter filled each day.
Then Jesus, working the rocky shore, thought
To call, “James, John.” They left my net, my way,
And followed. Risen, he calls me, “Zebedee,”
And keeps me mending nets beside the sea.
The Sixth Man
John 6:34
I was a taking sort of man and she
A woman, worn by giving, satisfied
To trade a mockery of love. Her fee—
Nothing elaborate, a place beside
Another, a protective touch, a hand
Restrained when annoyance
