Mini-sequence

I’ve been thinking about this sequence again and hope to restart it soon.

Upright, upright when the waters came

He laughed and turned his beard away when youths
begged bread of him, asked what the wood was for.
They left their dusty heelprints in the tar
that coated every plank. One scratched the truth–
that Noah stank of wealth–pale in the pitch
then threw a rock and ran to hide before
the fat old man clacked skulls like water jars
or sent his sleek sons chasing with a switch.

Such shameful boys. But I, too, want to know
why he looks furtive in the day and gathers
beasts, grains, and mounds of kophered wood so high,
so tempting and unneighborly. I go
to ask and he just shrugs and smirks and, rather
than answer, laughs up at the hard blue sky.

Abra speaks to Holofernes in confidence

Your head is heavy. I did not expect
that you would weigh so much, that you would pull
as if you thought a rock could be your neck,
the earth your shoulders. Both my hands are full

of hair, my mouth of blood and bile and dirt.
I carry you. She creeps along behind
and hides our trail, as silent in her skirts
as only death should be. Soldiers will find

us soon, find what I bear, and stake us to
the ground like tents. If Judith knew how near
I am to screaming just to end the wait

she would garrote me with her shining plait
and drop me empty in the sand. But you
mean more to her. She would not leave you here.

Keturah Awaits the Mountain’s Reply

If I had been here sooner, if my hands
had held that knife, no god who changed his mind
could matter. My grip would guide Abraham’s–
chip through resisting flesh and bone, while wind

licked at the blood that Isaac offered, coughing.
I have slaughtered lambs before; their throats
are not so different. Still, all my laughing
sons say Abraham will give them goats

and tents and that’s enough. They chide me for
my rage as if their banishment were just
and I should submit to it like a whore
whose sons deserve no better. There is dust

and only dust pooled thickly on this stone.
Murder would not have left me so alone.

A Wheel of Birds

Who needs to read a letter when you know
what it will say? I heard my death spill out
like broken teeth from David’s greedy mouth,
heard servants whispering how my wife goes

thick-waisted down the street. Why couldn’t he
pick up a rock with his own hand and split
me like Goliath? I could bear the kiss
of stone–my flesh opened for birds that wheel

the chariot sky–if he would strike me down
himself. I’ve earned that, not a friend-held blade,
a scorpion in my blankets, poisoned grain.
I should run. It’s too late. The hills around

me bloom with armies, ready to awaken.
Let Joab’s eyes tell me that I’m mistaken.

You are Here

My father cannot understand why I
am not devout, why I look at his face
to see what my dead brothers looked like, why
I make no plans for life beyond this place.

But I barely exist. Tomorrow, rot
might kiss me, use me as a tool to test
the family piety. Neighbors forgot
how many deaths they witnessed. “Job is blessed!”

they cry, and he believes it too and yields
another lamb up to the Lord. A bleat
swells up in my own throat. A sacrifice

can know what comes, can see what fates are sealed
by righteousness. He thinks life will stay sweet.
I know what happened once can happen twice.