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Dust

A number of months have passed since I kicked off the Spiritually Sensitive Sinners Series. This next installment is a poem. It did not begin inspired by Luke 7:36-50, but eventually made its way there. I am attracted to the theme of dust. We were made with it. The serpent was cursed to eat it. And in this Gospel passage a spiritually sensitive sinner cleansed Jesus’s feet from it.

 

Dust

Arms firmly held to breasts Fingers touching chin Head bowed, head cocked Eyes tightly locked

Carved by a scythe Hunched like a wound Unmoved, despair Under cloak of blackened hair

Quiet in a shell Unvoiced troubled words A whisper of a breath Dread of life and of death

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Rusted then crushed Upon a human life of tin Iron-weight of holiness on sin

How blessed when

Bent limbs unbend Hands reach down Knees touch dirt to crawl To earth all hearts must fall

To earth’s dust returns our fouled and fearful years From that very dust we cleanse His feet with our tears

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