LITMIR.BIZ

      Apocrypha

      Copyright © 2018 David Southward. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Resource Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-5256-1

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-5257-8

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-5258-5

      Manufactured in the U.S.A. 07/03/18

      Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

      . . . even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view,we know him no longer in that way.

      (2 Cor 5:16, NRSV)

      Acknowledgments

      With gratitude to the editors of the journals in which the following poems first appeared:

      The Other Journal: “The Cleansing of Mary Magdalene”

      POEM: “A Neighbor’s Concern” and “Joseph”

      The St. Sebastian Review: “The Man Who Would Be King”

      Verse-Virtual: “A Passover Supper” and “How He Came to Speak in Parables”

      Annunciation

      Crying herself to sleep, Mary dreamed

      a man came calling with an angel’s face.

      He told her she was brimming with the grace

      by which a world of sin could be redeemed.

      So inconceivable did her fortune seem,

      she questioned if the stranger’s words were true.

      He whispered soothingly, The Lord is with you.

      She woke—and her imagination teemed

      with confidence, now she’d been shown the way

      to fend off any charge of indecorum.

      She raced to Joseph’s workshop, to relay

      the destiny their Lord had chosen for him.

      There’d be no need for guile or dropping clues;

      she knew exactly how to break her news.

      The Gift Bearers

      Her newborn wailed from lying on rough hay

      where migrants crowded, waiting to be registered.

      She hoped they’d have the tact to look away—

      till three magicians blurted that they’d heard

      kings roar like him! They pulled out shiny globes

      to catch his gaze, declared his birth a sign.

      The incense of their gold-embroidered robes

      transformed the crib into a makeshift shrine.

      Even the shepherds leaned in to take part,

      hailing the little conqueror of Rome.

      His heavy lids were lifting Mary’s heart

      when Joseph returned; soon they could go home.

      That night, as the child nursed in her soft sleeve,

      she lulled him with the feats he would achieve.

      A Passover Supper

      His mother let him choose the yearling lamb.

      Standing in line, waiting for Temple priests

      to perform the sacrifice, his head swam

      with spooling blood and clumps of matted fleece.

      They dragged it home. He watched her drive a stave

      across its shoulders, skewer down the spine

      to hold it steady over coals—as she laved

      the naked loin and ribs in a roasting brine.

      Before the meal, his father told again

      the story of Passover: how God spares

      the chosen, how all Egypt is condemned.

      He ate hastily, blinking back tears

      which welled up from an unfamiliar tension.

      A rush of kindness—mixed with apprehension.

      Joseph

      When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it.

      (Luke 2:43, NRSV)

      Three days we searched the city—called his name

      through market stalls, down alleys, into wells.

      I felt the hot fatigue of fear and blame

      in Mary’s tears. But how could I foretell

      what he would do—this staid, abstracted boy

      who memorized the prophets and withdrew

      into himself? A childhood filled with joy

      was brushed away like sawdust as he grew.

      We found him in the Temple: all aglow

      with rabbis’ praise. They laughed that one so young

      should ask of our concern, “Did you not know

      I must be in my Father’s house?” That stung

      like nettles’ fire. Anyone could see

      the Father he referred to wasn’t me.

      Lacuna

      She’d wash the frocks and watch her siblings play

      echoing games, near to the spring-fed pool

      where he would sometimes lead his father’s mule

      to drink. She talked to him. He liked the way

      her stream of questions said, You may, You may—

      letting the boy whose will was like a jewel

      relax, enjoy himself, and be a fool.