A Collection of Poems
Our Foremother's Bodies
By Phylicia Masonheimer
I wonder if anyone noticed
Priscilla’s thighs
were getting dimpled
as she taught Apollos
and mended tents with Paul.
Or perhaps the disciples
cringed and
commented that
Mary’s waist
was larger than last summer?
Could it be Dorcas,
in all her serving,
was a little less worthy
because her skin
was spotted and speckled
like Jacob’s sheep?
Our foremothers knew some things
about bodies:
they exist to give life.
Life giving,
Life caring,
Life spending
has a cost.
It leaves a scar.
Why are we surprised?
Service scarred Him too.
Maybe it’s “Well done”
not “Great body!”
because Heaven doesn’t care
about the fat on bended knees.
Blood and Water
By Gloria Page
Before a birth,
A water bursts.
A baby’s born in blood.
My Lord came through that canal,
Crying for his mother.
When He died, and my sin with him,
The soldiers pierced his side.
And what should flow from life’s last breath
But blessed blood and water.
As Eve was born from Adam’s rib,
I was remade there.
I drank the cup of wine called blood.
His wound, his tomb, my second womb.
I claimed his death as mine when
They dunked me under water.
Covered by the blood.
Washed in cleansing water.
His grave clothes swaddle my new skin as I’m presented to the Father.
Born into his family name,
I call him Older Brother.
Time
By Emily Miller
We as green as spring
Rolled in dusty earth
Laughed at cloud-strewn skies
Dreamed of what would come
To our little lives.
We as strong as summer
Set busily to work
Weaving plans, successes,
Failures, joys, and loss
Into identity
We as startled as autumn
Flushed at the passage of time
Our dreams slipped past us
And became facts, regrets
Distant memories
We, as frantic as winter
Snatching at the last leaves
Of retreating life,
Ask why we live so hard
And hate so much to go.
Dust returns to dust
Soul returns to Maker
To us a Son was given
For us the God-Man died
With us He will return
We’ll see a new dawn
With eyes as new as springtime
With strength to match
Eternal summer
We’ll dance in light
Untarnished by the fall
Our hearts made wise
By the memory of winter.
Apathy
By Jordan Sparnroft
It calls my name
It’s easier to
not care
not love
To think of self
To sleep
To put it all on a shelf
I’m tangled in emotions
In the knot of self
Forgetting The One
Who set it all into motion
Then I hear You whisper
“Wake up. Fight.”
All the while it tells me,
“What’s it all for?”
“You’re not even fighting right.”
My fight is weak.
“Just show up.”
You speak.
Open my eyelids
Wake up my brain
Strengthen my hands
Fix what is lame
This muscle in my chest
Bring me low
It’s there where I’m best
How Eve Felt
By Lauren Wifler
I want to know how Eve felt, knowing
nothing
but the tending of light. I want
to know how it felt
to be full and heavy with good, pulsing
with the strange creature of perfection.
I want to know the unmarred pleasure
of a day,
to have stood by the sea next to
the Word that formed it.
I want to know how Eve felt grasping
Hope’s
hand. Maybe she got goosebumps. Maybe
she sighed.
I want to know how it felt to wake
up under the moon,
and look into Joy’s face.
Love, I imagine, is a pleasant companion.
I wonder if Eve’s hand touched a
tree, a rock,
a flower, to say,
hello,
it’s nice to meet you.
I wonder if they leaned in to say
hello back.
It’s too bad then, that Eve felt
it was too good to be true.
