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.