Queen Sabbath in recovery

Queen Sabbath

was in her palace in time

last week, relishing the shade

of the Tree of Life—

the holy of holies—

where the goal

is not to have but to be,

not to own but to give,

not to control but to share,

not to subdue but to be in accord.

Vulnerable in her mature innocence,

she sang sweetly to the children

growing inside her

when the knowledge of evil

came near,

stuck a gun barrel up her vagina

and pulled the trigger.

Today, she’s in recovery,

mourning her loss,

but still alive

by some miracle—

the unquenchable desire

of the Lover for her Beloved,

and the children’s

returned attachment,

suckling at her breast.

The seeds of souls deceased,

now scattered in our hearts,

will fertilize her possibilities,

find rich soil in her uterine wall,

grow strong lungs

and—in time—wail loudly

these now-silent cries.

Meanwhile, the absurd restless

look to presidents and politicians,

star athletes, actors and actresses—

those who have taught them

to have, own, control and subdue.

They respond to interviews

with stillborn soundbites—

saying, “Be strong.”

But tomorrow

they will carry on

acquiring temporary wealth,

nursing the knowledge of evil,

arming and pulling the trigger,

then comforting afterward.

Still the restless put their hope

in these jesters of Eliot’s wasteland.

Queen Sabbath,

may we remain by your side.

Pull us close,

wounded Bride.

Forgive us and lavish us

with kisses.

Taste our tears

falling on your lips.

Feel our heaving, gasping bodies,

laying by your breast—

praying, “Heal.”

…….

Queen Sabbath in recovery

by troy cady

*words in italics are from Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2005), 3 and 12.