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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

And Miriam Sang.

And Miriam sang
God's song.
It flowed
Rising like smoke
Like a pillar of fire.
   And Miriam sang
   her brothers' song.
   Free at last, free at last!
      And she sang
      her mothers song,
      in velvet darkness and liquid as day
      A lullaby--
      A love song,
      her mother's song was.
         And Miriam sang
         the people's song:
         soft and loud at once
         and liquid still, and edged in smoke
         and wild
         Oh! so wild.
            A babble of song
            that lifted her feet
            and rang out--
            sang out
            with cymbal and lyre.
               Her voice rose
               Like smoke,
               Like air.
                  It soared.
                  And she sang the people's song
               Sang her mother's song
            Sang her brother's song
         Sang God's song.
      They poured forth from her
   as she danced.
The sea bed was rock-strewn
and dust
and blood now,
mixed with the dust.
And Miriam danced 
on sharp edged stone
and she sang,
her arms lifted, with cymbals
and timbrels
and ribbons of fire that caught the light,
caught the eyes of the people
as she danced them across the dry desert sea.
And she sang, Miriam did.
And she danced on feet that bled
arms lifted
and weary
with fluttering ribbons of color and light
And she sang God
   Singing faith
And she sang Moshe
   Singing freedom
And she sang her Mother
   Singing love
And she sang the people
   Singing celebration, singing fear.
And she danced
on feet that bled,
with arms raised in 
Weary and raw,
she danced on feet that bled
to a distant shore,
green and cool with a light that shimmered
   Like freedom
   Like love.
Miriam danced and raised her bloodied feet 
to stand upon the cool and green
No song, no cymbal
Just silence:
A final offering.
And into that stunning, that glorious silence,
she gave her weary body
   her bloodied body,
      her ribbons and cymbals,
         her vision,
            her voice.

            And God sang 
         Miriam's song
      and it lifted her, like fire
   and it filled her, like love