Listen to me, Lord. I have a list.
You said to Abraham:
Go, leave your fathers’ graves! To me,
no word. You promised him,
toothless at ninety-nine, a son. A son
of ours? We laughed. Sixty years
you locked my womb and then
told Abraham you would unbolt it.
To me, no word. Would Abraham
grow fat, shriek, spread his legs
across the birthing stool? Is he the eagle,
I the guttersnipe, that his lordship’s
wedded spouse must overhear the news
hidden behind a tent flap?
Do I exaggerate? You turned your face
to this old woman only
to accuse me of a niggling lie. Note!
The single time you spoke to me.
Do I exaggerate? The promise,
tell me! Where’s the seal? In the snip
off Abraham’s foreskin, but no mark
upon my breasts. And who consulted me
when you bid him burn my son
on Mount Moriah? Still I exaggerate?
Why did your hand-picked Abraham
twice turn me over to the harem of kings?
Am I a cow in heat needing to be mounted?
Why did I not see light in your light?
Why did your truth not set me free?
Sarahs List
The latest from america
Do we really trust the Holy Spirit to guide the election of a pope? What does that trust feel like? Zac, Ashley, Sebastian and JD talk about praying through and for the conclave.
What time will we see black or white smoke? How can I watch the chimney for white or black smoke?
That is the question ghosts really should be made to answer: Why remain where you have been most miserable?
As expected, the 133 cardinals who entered the Sistine Chapel May 7 failed to elect the next pope on their first ballot.
All his life, he has been one of the American Church's great, undiscovered men. He has been editor, publisher, friend, parish priest, poet, reviewer, teacher, preacher and hard worker. He is brillliant and has been behind and hidden for much of the success of St. John's, Collegeville. His works will rise and praise him.