Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Jehovah's Witness: a testimony

Bibles, booklets, brains rearranged into stamps
you seek me to understand facts I already know by birth,
like the moon is grey and God lives eastwards
where there's heat and sunshine
yet He answers prayers in different tongues

the coat you wear is whiter than your skin, porcelain
tall enough to the thrashing of the wet skies
short enough like my doorway patience
You extend a hand, offer me this and that, reading into lines
I know by heart, like arguments I have mistakenly frowned at my mother for making

I have nothing to offer you even if I tried,
I ran out of bread in the morning
 you stand in the way, there
on the last remaining piece of cement before my house
you repeatedly forget my name
 but remember  what you make of a God,
just salt he fundamentals of faith
pray, fast, obey

the frost  covers the lawn, covers my lame chest
I try to breathe in enough power to decline
the watchtower you mean to set up in my house,
I know holy by tracing the edges and back roads of my city
by wasting an afternoon under a braid
by my blind mother's instincts of love

You convince me with leaving
to warmer weathers when I should show you the distance
between lands and the sky
mention Jerusalem and the walls of Jericho to start
Why would I pilgrimage to the holy cities
when prayer has left
before me, before words
to care and heal, and wander.

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