the woman brought before My Son
accused of adultery
was me
. . . could have been me, they ringed
with their stony eyes and
hardened hearts
fingers itching, bodies aching
to be next, too late to be the first
to cast a stone before the One
Who would know
what it’s like
to bear the Last Straw (Light
as a Cross) if Joseph
hadn’t stepped forward,
which is what
My Son
probably wrote in the sand, in
Belshazzar font, those oh so many
years ago
: Where is the man?
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Still Life, Still Sacred
Renaissance painters would use life-sized wooden dolls called manichini to study how drapery folds on the human…
Letters
I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…
While We’re At It
Propaganda: misleading and biased portrayal of facts, often used to inculcate and reinforce an ideology or political…
