Poetry: March Edition

Old Testament

by Maisey Jefferson

Like a Psalmist, I will wait 
My eyes red and burning from the tears, 
But also burning from 
Beholding the brightness of your glory, 
Which is even more brilliant and blinding 
When I am crying. 

Like Lady Wisdom, I will wait 
In the midst of your perfection. 
Your words 
Are the modest garments that cover me 
As I flee 
From the foolish and the wicked 
To prosperity for Eternity. 

Like Ruth, I will wait 
On your threshing floor 
Living off of your kindness 
Until you knock at the door 
Of my heart 
And redeem me, my Kinsman. 

Like Esther, I will wait 
Uninvited in the minds of man 
But armed with the already-accepting scepter 
Of your Truth. 
I will bow to no one 
And my people will rejoice. 

Like the Wise Teacher, I will wait 
Afraid of nothing and achieving nothing 
Apart from you. 
Because I am from a world under the sun 
And I chase the wind when I deny the One 
Who fulfills me. 
There will be a time for joy. 

Like Job, I will wait
Because you hold the world 
And I cannot even begin to imagine 

Like Joshua, I will wait 
Because forever, 
Me and mine, 
We will serve you 
Even when we cannot swallow the 
Sour grapes that seem too big to bite. 

Like an Israelite, I will wait 
In advent 
Counting down the seven times seventy days 
Until I can return to you, 
Knowing I am the only reason I cry, 
And Yeshua: Help me do goodness 
In your eyes. 

New Testament

by Maisey Jefferson

I don’t think 
I think 
About you, 

Jesus, I don’t think 
About your thoughts: 
The ones you had 
When you were growing up 
When you wanted to yell at your brothers 
And didn’t. 

I don’t think 
About what you felt 
When you were under the water 
And raised back up to the dove-like surface 
Just like I was. 

Why don’t I think 
About how you fought 
The silver tongue 
Of twisted truth 
On the hollowness of a forty-day empty stomach 
Or the dryness of your eyes 
As you looked into 
The face of Perversion 
And said: 

Why don’t I think 
About you laughing 
At a joke that could have easily been mine, 
Or about the family stories 
You loved to tell 
Around the dinner table? 

And I don’t think about the smile 
You gave every person you passed 
On the afternoons when a walk sounded nice. 

Yet in your perfection, 
You think of me 
And you love to.

Post Tenebras Lux

by Katherine Jesson

Boughs clothed in White Christening
Robes, still and heavy, bowing to greet you.
Boughs quieting the sounds of bustling
Town, wearing their pure robes anew.

Hidden are Ground’s dead rags from view
By snow, soft and gentle, light and clean,
Gently laid burial cloth on a frozen tomb.
Ground’s lonely barrenness not seen.

Out of the heavy Dark above, light flakes now fall
Carried by the howling Wind. Though fearful
Her cries and shrieks, hope sounds from Snowflakes’ call.
The once Dark sky, of light and life, is full.

Snow lays upon the frozen tomb, sleeping, resting
What mysteries does this frozen world hold?
Beneath the white cloth, breathing, waiting
New life awakens, new stories yet told.

The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the authors. They do not proport to reflect the opinions or views of the Gordon Review, editorial staff, or its members.

Categories: Arts

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