Tabernacle Series #3 - the one about the goat

Glassy eye, the head stares back at me.
Dead, dead, dead,
Blood covers the dirt around us,
stench of bowel and blood combine,
a grassy smell,
the contents of it's stomach, spilled.

I sit with the goat,
it's body slowly cooling,
warm belly blood attracting flies.

That first spurt surprised me,
violet spray of pumping heart,
staining my clothes,
distracting me from the nanny's screams.

That's no way to die;
a knife to the gullet,
for a goat who did nothing wrong.
Well, except for eating what it oughtn't.

I'm worn out,
full spent from the exercise of courage I'd summoned
for my first kill.
Not yet repeated often enough to feel normal.

She came to me willingly,
thinking I had food,
not expecting the betrayal of a wrench of the head,
blade to the neck.

She'd butted up against my legs,
like a toddler trying to hide in mummy's skirts.

She's a carcass now, a goat no more,
her life-blood drying red to brown,
gritty on my dirtied skin.

Meat and fur,
gelatin and teeth.

Scapegoat,
scapegrace,
welcomed in. 

Tabernacle Series #2 - Rahab's House

YOU said not to unite your body with a prostitute,
but here you are,
inhabiting,
colonising,
co-habitating.

YOU said whoever unites with a prostitute becomes one flesh with them,
but here you are,
loving me,
living in me,
squatting among the darkness and filth.

Woe to me!
I am ruined!
For I am a woman of unclean lips,
a hoarder of horrors,
in a house stacked high with filth.

Burn it down,
cleanse with fire,
remove this tent and build another,
more worthy,
5-star,
a suitable dwelling for the king. 

Tabernacle Series #1 - Cross-stiched Welcome Mat

Sorry,
God doesn't live here.
He doesn't need your electricity offer/insurance package/re-directed mail.

Sorry,
God doesn't live here.
Don't expect an invite to cross a threshold stained with blood,
into a welcome of warmth and light.

God doesn't live here,
so don't expect a meal, no, a feast,
good music and a prayer.

God doesn't live here. 

bloody love

Multitasking like a manic monkey in the attempt to prove I'm not a total failure.

Procrastinating wildly in the best style of self-sabotage.

Guilt guilt guilty that my failures drag others down with me.

Help me off this treadmill of woe,
my Sisyphian attempt to win salvation (freedom from painful shame) by works (hopeful/hopeless stabs at success).

Lift up my eyes,
from my navel
to your skies.
Help me truly perceive and believe your measureless graciousness,
staunch affection,
bloody love.

cutting a covenant

Marriage - sealed with a kiss,
not a cut,
'though intermingling blood
will stain pure sheets,
proving true cost of loyalty:
when broken, hearts will bleed.

Flood - sealed with a bow,
a sign
that rain will not overshoot it's place
as a weapon against sin, the world and the devil,
to overwhelm by drowning.
Clear-cut colour, witness to grace.

Communion - sealed with a cup,
some bread,
a prayer.
Feeble evocation of slaughter:
omitting stink, bile and skin,
but perfect prompt for a meal,
a feast,
of fellowship, grace, and daily need
provided by the promise maker,
cut, out, excluded,
faithful still,
heavenly baker, vigneron and king.