The Teacher

Teacher, tell us,

they say,

clutching rulers and texts

against their chests.

Teacher, tell us.

 

Sun-scorched hands loose fettered bands.

Stigmata stretch to gather hatchlings

squabbling over foreign coins and spousal deeds.

Sand-ground feet tread foot-ground trail,

Stone pillow nights await grey dawn cleft.

Weeping flute unravels dancer’s shroud.

 

Broken bread,

water jug wine,

a table spread valley-wide

for open-eyed children.

 

Offered flesh receives frightened flail,

Honest heart meets jealous scorn,

Molested shoulders bear run-away shame.

 

Love, he says, sweating anguish.

Love, he says, bleeding sorrow.

Love, he says, opening arms.

Love, he says, dying.

Love, he says, rising.

Love, he says, pleading.

 

Teacher, tell us,

they say,

tightening robes

against the winds of his breath.

 

Teacher, tell us,

Will this be on the exam?

 

For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. (John 1:17)

The people were amazed at his teaching, for he taught with real authority—quite unlike the teachers of religious law. (Mark 1:22)