how long foot of christ would you wait

i am careless and break this alabaster jar in my hands. the tears that wash your feet are hot with selfish surprise at the disaster my hands can wreak.

i met you at the well, but my basket is poorly woven and the water i raised to your lips spilled out onto the dry, red sand.  you left, disappointed.  i sat down under the noon sun to weave another.

i am naked in the market and you lift my face to meet my eyes.  your accusers have gone, your sins are forgiven, i hear you whisper.  but little do you know, the pharisees found me alone.

i clean, cook, prepare, and plan.  i envy her for sitting at your feet, unafraid of being proved unnecessary.  able to relinquish the burden of being useful.  she envies me for my silent disdain.

i sleep tonight, wrapped in the embrace of seven demons i heard you could cast out.  but i share the name of too many others and your holy books won’t remember me.


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